Always Something
by wright.or.wrong
Summary: There's been something more than friendship between them since nearly the beginning – even when they weren't able to recognize it, even when they didn't want to recognize it.
1. Chapter 1

- Always Something –

Spoilers: All the way up through 5x13 (I'm still not ready to call it the series finale yet.)

Summary: There's been something more than friendship between them since nearly the beginning – even when they weren't able to recognize it, even when they didn't want to recognize it.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

A/N: A while back, when spoilers started coming out about the J/B stuff in the final episodes, I had a dream one night that featured the sitcom-y premise that kind of drives the story (my subconscious' way of reassuring me, I guess) and when I woke up, I decided that I was going to write a story based on it no matter how the finale turned out. Given what did happen in the finale, the story definitely became bigger and a little more serious, but the stupid, little idea from my dream still managed to work. Fate, I guess.

Hope you enjoy.

* * *

Since they saved Greendale from the evil, carb-pushing clutches of Subway, he's been trying to keep a low profile.

It's summer so it's pretty easy to do because the group always sees less of each other then. Still, he keeps himself busy just in case he needs a ready excuse. The Dean asks him to teach a couple of summer classes, and aside from being in desperate need of money, it seems like the perfect way to beg out of any social engagements that might be a little too uncomfortable for his tastes.

Hickey is in New York for the summer too, visiting his family, so Jeff has the office all to himself and he spends a little more time than is probably healthy in that dark, dank space – mainly because he knows it's the last place that his friends would think to look for him.

To be fair, though, he has lunch with Shirley one weekend, so it's not like he's done a total disappearing act – she can report back to the rest of the group if they're wondering what's been keeping him so busy. Of course, if he's honest, he only agrees to meet Shirley because seeing her is easy, which means there's no real reason to avoid her.

Because she wasn't in that basement bunker when shit got real with that ridiculous computer and he didn't ask her to marry him in a fit of fear and desperation so consuming that he could have easily gotten himself off on an insanity plea back in the day and she doesn't have the uncanny ability to read his mind and deepest, darkest secrets like they're nothing more than predictable plot twists from a bad TV show and she doesn't have an unhealthy fascination with him that leads to lots of inappropriate touching and she doesn't inspire the kind of intense, uncontrollable feelings in him that are apparently as powerful as electricity either.

It's not exactly a shocker that being around Annie is the hardest for him – because now they can't even be in the same room without everything that he feels for her vibrating just under his skin, leaving him nervous and jumpy like an addict in need of a fix.

Sooner or later, he thinks, someone is going to catch on.

Annie is going to catch on.

And he really doesn't want that to happen before he's come to terms with all of it himself.

It's just fucking pathetic how long that's taking him. He is forty damn years old – he should know what to do about how he feels for God's sake, especially after more than five years.

But even if he knew what to do, would it be right to do something in the first place?

Annie is, in every sense of the word, bright. She has hopes and fears, but isn't paralyzed by either. She works for the things that she wants and doesn't fold in the face of adversity. She makes things happen. She wears her heart on the sleeve without guile or shame, and she always, always stands her ground.

He's staring middle age dead in the eye and he's still too scared to own up to the things that he really wants. He's lazy and guarded and unable to articulate even the most basic of emotions when it really matters. His selfishness is the stuff of legends and he spends half his time thinking he's better than everyone around him and the other half hating himself more than he could ever hate anyone else.

He is one fucked up son of a bitch, so by anyone's estimation, she is seriously out of his league.

A few weeks into the summer semester, though, he literally bumps into her in the cafeteria – she's taking a class to ease her load for the upcoming semester, but somehow, no one saw fit to let him in on that piece of information – and the jolt that he gets when he stares down into her wide, glittering eyes makes him seriously think about just grabbing her and never letting go. She fidgets with the strap of her messenger bag, glancing around the room nervously, so he offers to buy her coffee because it's not fair if his crazy issues are making her uncomfortable. He's got to keep things normal – well, what passes for normal anyway – between them.

At a secluded table in the corner of the room, she chatters on like she's afraid of awkward pauses in the conversation. But he barely hears her because sitting across the table, all he can think is, She loves me. She seriously and truly loves me.

Because that's the other revelation that hit him like a ton of bricks in that forgotten basement lab – Annie loves him. She loves him enough to want him to be happy, even if it hurts her, even if she thinks he's a fool. He can't trivialize her feelings for him as a crush or infatuation or any other insulting rationalization that makes it easier for him to dismiss her.

It's a stunning realization, too, because even though he's been with plenty of women who appreciated the way he looks and dresses and speaks, none of them ever cared enough to value his happiness as much as their own.

It is a strange, unnerving, and humbling kind of feeling.

"Jeff?" Annie says, cocking her head with concern. "You okay?"

He realizes then that he's zoned out completely, and he wonders if this is what the future will be like, gawking at her endlessly as emotion after emotion slams through his body.

"Yeah, sorry." He shrugs. "I think I need this caffeine more than I realized."

She smiles, taking his words at face value, and he feels even more lost.

* * *

With Greendale officially saved, she needs a new project to focus on and her own future seems like the obvious choice.

While her grades were just fine last semester, she knows that she was distracted by committee business, that that's where she wound up focusing the bulk of her energy, and since that decision paid off so well, it seems like she's earned the right to be selfish for a little while.

So she signs up for a summer class in Criminal Procedure to get one of her degree requirements out of the way. She wishes that she could take two or three classes, but she doesn't really have the money and she needs to work so her financial situation doesn't become absolutely dire. Fortunately, the Dean offers her a job – it barely pays minimum wage and amounts to nothing more than being his gal Friday because his regular assistant has taken the summer off to go on a tour of the Canadian Rockies, but the hours are flexible and she even manages to work in a little over time to pad her bank account.

Her class is interesting too, which inspires her to rededicate herself to her degree and dreams of a career in law enforcement or forensics or law. Hickey isn't teaching it because he's back east for the summer, but the teacher is a friend from his old days on the force and she is pretty sure that Hickey put in a good word for her because the guy tells her on the first day that he is expecting big things from her.

If there is anything that Annie Edison does well, it's rise to a challenge.

She feels that every day when she sets foot on Greendale's campus, the sun shining overhead and the future unwinding around it in every direction.

She's glad to have a little time away from the group too - because it always seems like a good idea for all of them to take a break from one another for a while. But she does see plenty of Abed at home and she goes to dinner with Shirley a couple of times, listening to her vent about the state of her marriage and how she doesn't see enough of her boys.

So, when Annie stops and thinks about it, it's really only Britta and Jeff that she is actively avoiding.

It was kind of staggering how quickly they called off their engagement once Greendale was safe and sound – which makes her realize that Abed's assessment of that particular craziness was probably spot-on. But she still gets a sick feeling in her stomach whenever she thinks about it, when she remembers Jeff announcing it, and she kind of hates herself for it.

She understands what it means to love someone unconditionally, to care enough to say that someone else's happiness matters just as much as your own, but she still can't help feeling stung by the fact that when he was scared and desperate, the world falling down around him, it was Britta that he chose to cling to.

She wonders if it all just comes down to sex – because she can't remember a single occasion in the past few years when she ever thought, even for a minute, that Jeff still harbored any kind of romantic feelings for Britta – and if that's the case, then there was no way for her to compete because Jeff has been stubbornly refusing to even let her in the game for years now.

Or maybe Jeff is just a grown man who is never going to know what he really wants. He may have more than a decade and a half on her, but he is even more clueless than she is about the stuff that really matters.

When they run into each other the second week of the summer semester, though, he buys her a cup of coffee and she tries to tell herself that everything is back to normal – or will be eventually. They sit across from one another in a corner booth and she babbles on and on about her class and her job and how Abed and Rachel are going to Denver for the Fourth of July. Jeff is a little distracted, but he does have a couple of classes to worry about even though he probably wishes that he was spending the summer sunning himself from dawn to dusk on the roof of his building, so it's not really surprising.

Sipping coffee with him, she steadfastly refuses to think of the speech that she gave in that 70s era basement. She meant every word and isn't really embarrassed by them, but she is haunted by the look on Jeff's face as she spoke - it was like he'd been sucker punched right in the gut, and she knew then that he understood exactly what she was saying, that it only had to do with Borchert in the most tangential of ways.

So he knows how she really feels, that she is not some silly, little girl with a silly, little crush. He knows how deep and real her feelings run, and even if he never brings it up, she is always to going to know that he knows, that he was planning a future with Britta while she was pouring out her fragile heart.

"I really wanted a vacation this summer," he tells her, pulling at the little plastic tab on the lid of his coffee cup. "After all the craziness lately, I just wanted to do nothing for a few months."

He laughs dryly and shakes his head, and for a minute, she can't help but wonder what exactly he did to open that basement door. When the lights flickered on, there wasn't really time to think about it too much – saving Greendale was the priority. In fact, she didn't stop to think about it at all until Abed told her about the unceremonious way that Jeff and Britta had called off their engagement and she started to think that Britta probably wasn't a source of deep and abiding passion for Jeff.

But she couldn't really come up with anything else that would be either.

She knows that he'd be evasive if she asked, make some dumb joke about how he thought of himself or scotch or some other stupid, superficial thing, and she would get annoyed and they would just wind up fighting.

And it doesn't really matter anyway.

Greendale is saved and Jeff feels how he feels and she feels how she feels and so much of everything will remain unsaid.

"You could go to Denver with Abed and Rachel for the long weekend," she teases, instead of asking impossible questions. "I bet they wouldn't mind."

Jeff rolls his eyes.

"I'd need another vacation after that. Don't get me wrong – I'm glad Abed's found someone - but they are hard to be around."

"You don't have to tell me. I'm essentially living with them."

"You could probably use a vacation too, then."

She nods, and suddenly, she's imagining a week spent lying on a beach somewhere, with a fruity, umbrella-ed drink in her hand and her mind entirely clear.

"But I've got too much to do," she says, and Jeff smiles faintly, like he wouldn't expect anything less.

* * *

He is in his office, studiously avoiding all thoughts of love, romance, sex, and anything remotely complicated in favor of another game of Fruit Ninja when the door unceremoniously bangs open and Ian Duncan lurches in, wearing a grin that is somehow both tentative and maniacal.

"Jeff Winger," he says, enunciating the words with great care. "Jeffrey Winger…" He tilts his head almost thoughtfully. "How long have we known each other now?"

Somehow, Jeff resists the urge to groan, but his patience is already frayed because the air conditioning is on the fritz and his shirt is starting to stick to his back like a clammy second skin. He definitely doesn't need Duncan's brand of annoyance to contend with too.

"Longer than either of us wants to admit, so cut the crap and tell me what you want."

Duncan ignores him and fiddles with the meager collection of pens in the mug at the end of his desk. He goes back to his game, hoping his obvious disinterest is discouragement enough.

But of course, it isn't.

"And we're friends, right? Good friends, I'd even venture to say."

"That depends," Jeff says. "If by 'good', you mean friends who don't ask each other to actually do anything, then yeah. We're the best of friends."

Finally, Duncan seems to pick up on the not-at-all concealed hostility and crosses his arms over his chest defensively.

"I come to you in my hour of need and this is how you treat me? What happened to the Jeff Winger who saved Greendale with the sheer power of his warm, fuzzy feelings?"

Jeff clenches his jaw, realizing that he's going to be hearing jabs like this for the foreseeable future. He's actually surprised that no one has taken the time yet to badger him about where his feelings were directed when he was busy saving Greendale. His friends are such busybodies that it seems like the kind of thing they'd be all over by now.

"It was *passionate* feelings," he mumbles under his breath and pushes himself upright in his chair, glaring. "Just cut to the damn chase, all right?"

"Well, just this morning, I was at my gym and I happened to make the acquaintance of—"

"You belong to a gym?" Jeff laughs incredulously.

If Duncan is offended by the question, he certainly doesn't show it. His grin actually makes him look rather pleased.

"I don't so much *belong* to a gym as much as I start trial memberships at various health clubs in an effort to meet women."

"Yeah, that sounds more like it."

"As I was saying," Duncan continues. "This morning, my persistence paid off and I actually met a lovely, lovely woman. She's a redhead, Jeff. A redhead. And she's taking a spin class so her ass is pretty much a work of art."

"Good for you. And I wish you luck… because I'm pretty sure you'll need it."

"That's just it," Duncan says, perching on the edge of the desk and leaning in. "As charmed as Delilah – that's her name… isn't that the dog's bullocks? Well, as charmed as she obviously was with me, she got a little hesitant when it came to actually making a date…"

Jeff smirks, unable to hide his amusement.

"You don't say?"

"Fortunately, I think well on my feet so I told her I was having dinner with friends tomorrow evening and perhaps she would like to join us. Because, you know, I think my pure animal magnetism is a little too much for her one-on-one right out of the gate. A group date helps take some of the pressure off… and the lovely Delilah agreed."

"Okay," Jeff says. "Again, good for you. But what does any of this have to do with me?"

Duncan grins, and for a moment, he looks almost flirtatious, batting his eyelashes behind his glasses like he expects his charm to actually work.

"*You* are my friend."

It hits Jeff then, what exactly Duncan wants him to do, and he shakes his head vehemently in protest.

"Oh, no. No, no, no. I'm not about to play third wheel on your desperate attempt at a date. I've got better things to do with my time… like rearrange my sock drawer according to color and pattern."

"Dinner will be my treat, of course," Duncan says, like Jeff hasn't spoken at all. "And I made reservations at Crave, which I happen to know is one of your favorite restaurants so…"

"You think a free meal is enough to convince me?" Jeff laughs. "I'm not that easy. For your sake, I hope Delilah is."

"I suppose I could sweeten the pot with a little cash." Duncan pulls a battered Velcro wallet from his back pocket and opens it, sifting through the billfold where there are only a few rumpled dollar bills. "Well, I don't exactly have any with me at the moment, but once I hit the ATM, I could do 50, maybe a hundred dollars?"

Jeff shakes his head, turning his attention once more back to his game.

"Don't think so. Sorry, buddy."

For a moment, Duncan is quiet and Jeff manages to slice through a watermelon, pineapple, strawberry, orange and apple all at once. He doesn't want to jinx himself, but he thinks he's well on his way to his highest score yet.

Until Duncan clears his throat, drawing Jeff's eyes, and offers up a smarmy smile.

"You know, there's something else I've been meaning to chat with you about, actually," he declares. "As a psychologist, I'm very interested in what went down in that basement just before you all managed to get out. I mean, everyone agrees that it was you who managed to get the door open, but no one knows exactly how you did it. What it was that inspired such a passionate response in you."

Jeff shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

"I don't know—"

"They were probably too caught up in the excitement of saving Greendale to give it much thought, but now that things are back to normal, perhaps I should ask around. You know, see if anyone cares to speculate or brainstorm about what it might be that evokes such a strong emotional response in Jeff Winger?"

Jeff grits his teeth, staring down his supposed friend in a way that he hopes is intimidating.

"Of course, if I had a lady friend demanding my attention," Duncan muses. "I'd probably be too busy to give much thought to you and your obviously complicated emotional life…"

It might seem like a harmless threat – because it's not as if anyone could really determine what it was that flipped the switch in him, so to speak – but Jeff knows that if Duncan puts a bug in Abed's or Britta's or Shirley's ear, they will run with it and pester him and while he's strong enough to not give anything up, it would be uncomfortable in the extreme.

And one night of boredom, watching Duncan feebly attempt to woo some poor woman, is probably preferable to that mess.

Well, maybe.

He's just not willing to take the risk.

"Fine," he snaps. "I'll do it."

Duncan smiles broadly, extending a hand that Jeff bats away.

"Thank you, Jeffrey. You are a gentleman and a scholar. I don't care what anybody says."

"Yeah, yeah. You just make sure to bring your credit card… because I have a feeling I'm going to be very hungry. And thirsty."

"Absolutely. Whatever you want." Duncan cocks his head, looking just a little bit sheepish. "There is one small catch, though."

"Of course there is," Jeff groans. "What now?"

"Well, Delilah is expecting this to be a double date of sorts, so I need you to bring a date."

"Are you fucking kidding—"

"And not just some random woman that you pick up at a bar," Duncan says. "It needs to be someone who can fake being your better half because I told Delilah that she's going to be meeting my friends who are a very happy couple. Wasn't that just a stroke of genius? It'll make me look like serious relationship material by extension, you know?"

Jeff doesn't know – the whole thing sounds needlessly complicated actually.

"Where do you expect me to find someone willing to go along with this insanity?"

Duncan squints, deep in thought, and then, just because the universe has a cruel sense of humor, there's a knock on his office door, and both men look over at the doorway, where Annie stands, jotting something down on a clipboard.

"Hey, Jeff. The Dean wanted me to ask if you'd…" She glances up and sees Duncan leaning on the edge of the desk, so she hesitates."Oh, sorry. Am I interrupting?"

Duncan's eyes widen in delight, so it's more than obvious when the light bulb goes off over his head.

"Actually," he says, with a smile. "Your timing is impeccable, Annie. Jeff was just about to come looking for you."

He looks at Jeff over his shoulder, almost like he's daring his friend to object. Annie takes another step into the office, looking genuinely intrigued.

"Oh? What's up?"

Jeff shakes his head adamantly.

"Annie, you really don't want to get mixed up in all this. Trust me."

She frowns, her eyes narrowed sharply, and it's almost like she thinks that he's challenging her – which is the absolute last thing that he intends because he knows that she never backs down from a challenge.

"Why don't you let me decide?" she says pointedly.

Duncan bobs his head in agreement.

"Are you free tomorrow night, Annie?"

She nods warily.

"Well, then, how would you like to join Jeff and I, along with a lady friend of mine, for dinner?" Duncan asks. "My treat."

She raises a skeptical eyebrow, and Jeff knows that he's got it seriously bad because he gets a jolt from it as sure as if she'd started undoing the tiny pearl buttons on her blouse.

"What's the catch?" she demands, and he laughs because of course she's smart enough to see through all this crap.

"The only way Duncan could get this poor woman to go out with him was to tell her that it was a double date," he explains. "With his good friends who just so happen to be a happy couple that can vouch for him as viable relationship material."

Annie shoots Duncan a horrified glare.

"You're going to lie to her right from the start?" she practically gasps. "That's terrible. What if you get married someday? Your entire relationship will be based on a lie."

"You have him married already?" Jeff laughs. "I can't even see him getting to a second date."

Duncan frowns at him just before pushing away from the desk to step toward Annie and throw an arm around her shoulders.

"Listen, Annie," he says. "I'm not lucky like Winger over there. I don't have pretty boy good looks, abs you could cut glass on, and enough superficial charm to sink the Titanic. I've got to be a little more creative when it comes to appealing to women. This isn't really a lie so much as a small, tiny fabrication. I mean, you two are my friends. And you vouch for me, right? It's just the couple-y thing we're fudging."

She lets out a quiet, frustrated sigh, but tilts her head like she is actually considering his plea.

"Don't we all deserve love, Annie?" Duncan prods. "Not just the pretty and unnaturally tan among us?"

Jeff knows that Duncan's got her now, because Annie can be a real softie and Duncan's masterfully pulling at all the strings wrapped around her heart.

"Annie," he says quietly. "You really don't have to do this."

She looks at him, and her expression is frighteningly unreadable.

"I'll do it," she says finally. "Though I'd like to go on the record as thinking this is a terrible idea."

"Sure. Fine. Of course," Duncan chirps happily, reaching out to pull her into a hug. "Thank you, thank you, thank you. Our reservation is for seven-thirty, so Jeff and I will pick you up at seven."

He spares Jeff a brisk wave and pretty much saunters out of the room, humming some unrecognizable tune as he goes. Annie is busy looking down at her shoes, tracing a seam in the tile with the pointy tip of her heel. When she finally meets his gaze, her smile is tentative, almost shy.

"There are worse ways to spend a Thursday night, right?"

He smiles back at her, and for a moment, everything between them seems very simple.

"Sure," he agrees. "I'm going to eat a ton of lobster and drink plenty of decades' old single-malt scotch all on Duncan's dime. Not much to complain about."

She nods, huffing out a half-hearted laugh. When she tilts her head and pins him with her wide, indigo eyes, he knows that she's about to say something important.

"You think we can fake the couple thing?"

It isn't the question that he's expecting, but it's still such a loaded one, even if that's not how she intends it.

"We've known each other a long time," he hedges, and Annie nods, like that's actually an answer.

* * *

She tries not to feel self-conscious when she finds herself sitting alone with Jeff in a seriously nice restaurant.

Duncan is at the bar, waiting for his date to arrive, and the waitress has already delivered their drinks, so they sit in silence, with nothing much to distract them. She is grateful for the fact that she's sitting beside him and not across the table because it means that she doesn't have to actively make eye contact. But he shifts suddenly, draping his arm along the back of her chair in a thoughtless, casual way, and her eyes are drawn to him once again.

He is wearing a gray suit without a tie (In the car on the way to the restaurant, Duncan insisted that he take off the navy silk one that he was wearing because it supposedly made Duncan's brown and blue striped number look cheap), which is actually a pretty great look for him, and she thinks, not for the first time, that he's really too good-looking for his own good.

Of course, he catches her studying him and shoots her a small, crooked smile that somehow seems too genuine for such a sleek, fancy restaurant. She looks away, smoothing her dress over her thighs.

"That's a good color for you," Jeff says.

She slides her hands across the deep teal satin of her dress again and smiles.

"Thanks. It's actually the first time I'm wearing it."

His gaze lingers on her for a moment, and that's all it takes for her skin to warm. He looks away eventually, fiddling with his glass.

"Should we take bets on how big a disaster this is going to be?" he asks. "Fifty bucks says she throws a drink in his face before the first course arrives."

She laughs, but swats at his knee.

"Oh, stop it. It could work out." She adjusts the knife and fork beside her plate for no reason. "My grandmother always used to say that there's someone out there for everyone."

Jeff cocks his head, eye narrowed like he's thinking carefully.

"I guess that's all it takes," he says. "One person."

There is something strange in his tone, a wistfulness or vulnerability that she doesn't usually associate with him, and it unnerves her. A little over two months ago, he was going to marry Britta – as hard as she tries, she can't shake that idea from her mind. She doesn't get the sense that he's pining for Britta or nursing a broken heart because the engagement didn't take, but maybe the whole thing got him thinking, reevaluating his stance on love and commitment and all that comes with it. He is forty years old now, so maybe he feels time running out.

This line of thinking only leaves her feeling unsettled, though, so she shakes her head as if to clear it and reaches for her drink. She can feel Jeff watching as she takes a steadying sip.

"No more appletinis?" he teases.

"It's summer. And a gin and tonic just seems summery to me."

He wrinkles his nose, looking almost boyish.

"I've never really liked gin. It tastes like you're drinking a Christmas tree."

"And you love your scotch anyway."

He tilts his half full glass, the amber liquid surging precariously close to the rim.

"I do love my scotch," he agrees.

"It's just us," she says, keeping her tone light. "So you can tell the truth… is that what you were thinking of when you got Borchert's computer to restart?"

She is only teasing and certainly doesn't expect a straight answer, but Jeff tenses up beside her like she is honestly trying to get him to spill his deepest, darkest secrets to her at a table in a busy restaurant. She isn't sure what to do, so she finds herself reaching out and sliding her hand over his on the blood red table cloth.

Before she can get a word out, though, Duncan appears in front of them with a pretty redhead in a green dress.

"Jeff, Annie," he says, holding his arm out theatrically. "I would like you to meet Delilah. Delilah, these are my dear, dear friends, Jeff and Annie."

And just like that, Annie remembers what they're really supposed to be doing here.

* * *

After years as a lawyer – or after years as a fake lawyer – he knows that first impressions aren't usually worth much. People are always on their best behavior or working an angle, so it takes a little while before you can really peel back the layers and get at the heart of them.

Still, Jeff has always prided himself on his instincts – and his gut is telling him that Delilah is way too normal to have agreed to a date with Duncan.

She's pretty, outgoing, and smart enough, and Jeff isn't getting any sort of crazy vibe from her.

It really doesn't make any sense.

"So…" she says cheerfully. "How do you two know each other?"

She gestures between him and Duncan.

"We work together, actually," Duncan says.

"So you're a professor too then, Jeff?"

He nods.

"I teach law."

She looks somewhat impressed, which tells him that she obviously doesn't know much about Greendale's reputation.

"And what about you two?" she asks, smiling at Annie and Jeff. "How did you meet?"

They look at one another in panic, and Annie lets a nervous giggle escape almost against her will. For some reason, it never occurred to them to come up with any kind of cover story. They know one another well enough that they didn't really need to go over any details to sell the whole couple thing, but clearly, they overlooked a key fact.

"Oh…"

"Um…"

Surprisingly, Duncan is sharp enough to rescue them.

"That is actually a juicy story," he says, grinning at Delilah conspiratorially. "Annie is a student at Greendale."

It may only be a cover story, but Jeff can tell from Annie's narrowed eyes and tight frown that she doesn't like it much.

"I'm not Jeff's student, though," she hurries to say. "I mean, I've never taken one of his classes, so there's no conflict of interest or anything."

He nods supportively.

"Annie's so smart that she doesn't need to sleep with her professor to get an A."

"Jeff!" the woman in question half shrieks, half laughs, swatting at his arm. She composes herself pretty quickly, though, and smiles warmly at Delilah. "What about you? What do you do?"

"I'm a PR consultant," Delilah says. "It's mostly freelance stuff, which means I get to do a lot of work from home in my pj's."

"That sounds great."

"It can be." Delilah shrugs. "But sometimes, it gets a little lonely."

Duncan smiles at her in moony kind of way, and somehow, Jeff resists the urge to roll his eyes. He refuses to even think about the very strong possibility that he has looked at Annie in that same way for everyone in the world to see, and instead, studies the menu like it might contain the mysteries of the universe. Annie considers hers in a similar manner, but her concentration is legitimate – she always treats choosing a meal as if it's serious, life-or-death matter.

"What are you getting?" he asks.

She frowns.

"I can't decide. The steamed bass with spicy chili sauce sounds really good, but I don't know the last time I had filet mignon and I kind of have a craving."

"Get the bass," he tells. "I'll get the filet mignon and we can split them."

She looks at him skeptically.

"Split them for real or split them meaning I get one bite of your steak and you eat two-thirds of my fish?"

"When have I ever done—"

"How about every time you've ever suggested we split food?"

He grins, because she's really not exaggerating all that much.

"I am like three times your size, you know."

"But I'm really hungry tonight," she whines, sounding like an extra from a production of 'Oliver'. "I had to skip lunch because the Dean wanted me to… Forget it. I don't even want to talk about what he made me do."

"Fine," he says magnanimously. "We'll cut them right down the middle – you can even do the honors. Okay?"

She nods, grinning happily, and closes her menu with a flourish. He does the same, and notices then that Delilah is watching them, smiling almost fondly across the table.

"How long have you two been together?" she asks. "If I'm not being too pushy…"

Annie looks up at him in alarm again, her eyes wide - another detail that they overlooked, and they can't expect Duncan to save them this time because it would seem a little weird for him to have ready knowledge of his friends' anniversary.

"Well, we've known each other, what?" Jeff says. "Five, almost six years now?"

Annie nods eagerly.

"And we've been *together* for two, almost three years," he finishes, and he has no idea why he chose those numbers and he refuses to think too hard about it, especially when Annie is smiling, ready to go along with the whole thing without any hesitation.

"So you were friends first?" Delilah asks.

"Yes," Annie answers quickly. "Friends first. Always friends."

Jeff shifts uncomfortably in his seat, knowing that's the truth but a lie at the same time. There's been something more than friendship between them since nearly the beginning – even when they weren't able to recognize it, even when they didn't want to recognize it.

"That's so nice." Delilah smiles and lifts her shoulders. "I really think that's the key to making a relationship last. You know, just liking each other enough to be able to sit around and do nothing together."

"Absolutely," Duncan agrees, lifting his wine glass. "To friendship first."

It is lame, as far as toasts go, but once again, Jeff keeps from rolling his eyes. He lifts his glass like a good sport and clinks it against Annie's. When their eyes meet, he knows they're both feeling a little uncomfortable, so he smiles to try to put her at ease.

But she looks away almost immediately, holding her glass out across the table to touch it to Delilah's, and he finds himself staring into the bottom of his own glass.

* * *

When they've finished dinner and are waiting for the check, Annie decides that the evening has been an unqualified success.

The conversation has flowed easily all night, though she and Jeff have both been quick to sit back and let Duncan and Delilah (How ridiculous, she thinks to herself. But then she realizes that Delilah knows him as Ian so it's really not that funny) talk to one another, the way that they would if they were alone on their date so they can honestly get to know one another.

And as surprising as it might be – Jeff clearly seems thrown by it – they seem to genuinely like each other. Annie doesn't really consider herself an expert in matters of the heart, but she can usually tell when a woman is interested and Delilah is showing all the signs.

Good for Duncan, she thinks. Everyone deserves a chance to be happy.

He certainly seems determined to go for it too because when Delilah gets a text and excuses herself to make a phone call for work, Duncan leans across the table, checking over his shoulder to make sure that she's out of earshot before waving his hand at Annie and Jeff dismissively.

"Make yourselves scarce for a few minutes," he orders. "I need a moment alone with her to make my move."

"Where do you expect us to go?" Jeff asks.

"I don't know. Say you need to go call the babysitter or something."

"We have kids now too?"

"Fine," Duncan huffs. "Say you have to go to the bathroom then."

"Why would we go the bathroom together?" Annie wonders.

He waggles his brows and offers up an exaggerated leer, and her mouth falls open in outrage.

"I'm not about to pretend that—"

"Sorry about that," Delilah chirps brightly as she sits back down. "Just a minor crisis. Fortunately, it's all resolved now."

Duncan smiles kindly at her, but when he glances across the table at Annie and Jeff, he is glaring, his eyes buggy and wide.

"Annie," Jeff says suddenly, his hand cupping her elbow. "Do you hear that? I think they're playing our song."

"Huh?"

He nods toward the piano player and the small dance floor on the other side of the restaurant.

"They're playing our song, so we should…"

He stands, holding his hand out to her.

"Oh," she laughs, finally catching on, and curls her fingers into his. "We should dance. Absolutely. We should totally dance." She smiles at Duncan and Delilah apologetically. "Will you excuse us? It's our song."

She walks with her hand wrapped in Jeff's, and if she's honest, it feels amazing and awful all at the same time. She can't help remembering that he knows exactly how she feels about him, which must make faking this couple thing with her so awkward for him – and that, in turn, only makes her feel so much more awkward herself and she becomes convinced, for no real reason, that her palm is sweaty and he must be able to feel it.

But he doesn't say anything, even as they get to the dance floor and her hands find his shoulders and his find her waist like they've done it before. There are only a few other couples dancing and she wonders if the everyone else in the restaurant can tell that she and Jeff don't really belong among them, that they're just pretending in the name of Duncan's love life. She focuses on the music from the piano to distract herself, sighing when she realizes what the song is.

"What?" Jeff asks.

"It's 'The Way You Look Tonight,'" she says. "That seems like such a cliché. I don't want this to be our song."

He looks down at her in amusement, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Well, since we really don't have a song, you could just pick something else. No one will know the difference."

"Really?" she asks impishly. "So I can go back and tell Delilah that our song is the theme from 'Beauty and the Beast' and you serenade me with it on every anniversary, birthday, and holiday? And sometimes on random Tuesdays just because you're such a romantic?"

He tips his head back and groans dramatically.

"Can't you pick a song that's not completely lame?"

She smiles, warming to the topic.

"What's your idea of a non-lame love song?"

"I don't know," he says, sounding exasperated. "'Romeo and Juliet' by Dire Straits?' 'With or Without You' is okay too."

She doesn't know the first song, so she doesn't really have a choice.

"Okay, fine." She shrugs. "'With or Without You' can be our pretend, non-lame song."

He frowns, all mock-sternly.

"But under no circumstances do I pretend-serenade you. You got that?"

She shakes her head, grinning smartly.

"If I get you pretend-drunk enough, you do."

When he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkle in just such a way that tells her that he wants to disagree but won't. The song ends while they're smiling at one another, and for a moment, they continue to sway like they still hear it. One of the other couples bumps into Jeff on their way off the dance floor, though, so she is jostled out of his arms and the mood seems to break just like that. She feels all awkward and obvious again and hurries as they cross the restaurant to keep a safe distance between them.

Back at the table, Duncan has apparently worked some magic because he explains that Delilah is going to give him a ride home. Alone with Jeff in his car, Annie fiddles with the radio, much to his dismay, though she steadfastly avoids anything that can even remotely be considered a love song. She rolls down the window too, letting the wind tousle her hair, because she is looking for distractions and will take them wherever she can get them.

Because when she's nervous and feeling uncomfortable, she is prone to do stupid things.

Like this.

"This is really sad," she hears herself saying. "But this pretend date was better than pretty much all of the real dates I've been on."

Jeff takes his eyes off the road for a moment and shoots her a soft smile.

"You're not really being fair to those other guys," he tells her. "Comparing them to me."

She shakes her head, laughing under her breath. When he pulls the car to a stop in front of her building, she hurries to undo the seatbelt before she gives anything else away. But his hand closes around her wrist before she can open the door.

"Hey," he says, his voice pitched low. "I had a good time, too."

For a minute, she thinks that he's just saying it to be nice, because he's taking pity on her, but when she looks up and sees how soft and dark his eyes are in the dim light, how tender his smile is, she knows that he's being sincere.

Later, when she's trying to fall asleep, she tries desperately not to remember that look on his face.

No good ever comes from those kinds of memories.


	2. Chapter 2

He's managed exactly one sip of his coffee when Duncan practically tackles him in the hallway outside his office and slams him into the wall with more force than he would have expected from the smaller man.

It's not even nine yet, and Jeff is in desperate need of caffeine because he spent most of last night tossing and turning, tormented by thoughts of Annie's shy smile in the soft lighting of the restaurant, her lush curves poured into that teal dress that somehow made her eyes look even bigger and brighter, the feel of her warm body against his as they swayed to cheesy piano music. It was strange to play at the whole couple thing with her, particularly when he knows how they both really feel, and yet, if he's honest with himself, that's exactly the same reason that it was so easy to do – they know one another pretty damn well and are drawn to one another like magnets. Of course, Delilah bought that they were together.

They've been together but not for years now.

Things are getting a little too out of control for his tastes, though. Because loving her is one thing – he is trying to come to terms with that, because he knows there's nothing he can do to change it – but unraveling in the face of it, agonizing over every touch, glance, and smile, being too much of a pussy to actually do anything about it, is about as embarrassing as it gets.

Last night, he lost sleep over her like some pathetic lovesick sap, for fuck's sake, and he refuses to be *that* guy.

Somehow, he manages to get his office door open, even with Duncan tugging on his arm like an overexcited teenage girl.

Christ, he really isn't in the mood for this.

"Call Annie," Duncan demands, almost as if he's read Jeff's train of thoughts. "Call Annie. Do it. Now."

"Why?"

"The three of us need to chat." He pushes Jeff's right hand, which happens to be holding a cellphone, toward his friend's ear. "Call her."

Annie is somewhere on campus, Jeff knows. Either headed to class or working her crappy job for the Dean, so it's not like they'll be disturbing her – that's why he gives in.

As the phone rings in his ear, he wonders petulantly if she had a good night's sleep.

It's official - he's as cranky as a damn toddler.

"What's wrong?" she asks, after barely two rings.

"Why would you think something's wrong?" he asks, though he doesn't wait for a response. "I'm putting you on a speaker phone. Duncan wants a word with us."

"You two were fabulous last night! Delilah thought you were both lovely and that I was lovely by extension. I'm not one to kiss and tell, but let's just say that I got—"

"We don't need to know about it," Annie hisses into the phone.

"Well, just know that you have earned my eternal thanks," Duncan continues. "I think the more than four hundred dollar charge on my credit card for dinner hints at my gratitude, but why let these things go unsaid?"

"You got off easy," Jeff says. "If I hadn't been driving, I would have had a lot more scotch."

"Here's the thing, though," Duncan says, ignoring him entirely. "Delilah has such a wonderful time that she thinks we should all get together again. Tomorrow evening, in fact."

"You want us to do it *again*?" Jeff repeats incredulously. "Dream on, buddy. This was a one-time thing. We told you that."

"Yeah," Annie agrees. "This is where your little white lie stops being so little and white and becomes a full-fledged deception."

"Oh, come on," Duncan huffs. "It's barely a lie. You two *are* practically a couple and everyone knows how –"

"Okay," Jeff snaps, turning his phone off speaker and pressing it to his ear once more. "That's enough of that. Let's not humor him, Annie."

"Annie," Duncan whines over Jeff's shoulder, trying to shout into the phone. "Delilah could be my one true love and you two will be condemning me to a life alone and miserable if you don't do me one more tiny, little favor."

Jeff hears her sigh over the phone, and Duncan tugs at his sleeve like a bratty kid.

"And don't forget what I told you the other day, Jeffrey. If I have a girlfriend, I'm much less likely to go poking around in what exactly went down in that underground la-bor-a-tory…"

"What's he saying?" Annie says in Jeff's ear. "I can't hear him."

"It doesn't matter. You don't have to do this, Annie. It's stupid and ridiculous, and now that I think about, I'm pretty sure it's exactly like a plot from some dumb sitcom that Abed probably watches. Let's just –"

"Love, Annie," Duncan whines into the phone again. "Do it for love."

"Oh, for Chrissakes," Jeff sighs. "You just met her. You can't be in love with her yet."

"Of course a cynic like you doesn't believe in love at first sight, but sometimes, you just know, Jeff. Trust me."

"That is such bull—"

"Enough," Annie shouts through the phone. "One more time. Tell him we'll do it just one more time."

He turns away from Duncan as if that will give them a modicum of privacy.

"Really?" he asks in surprise.

"If he pays again."

Jeff laughs, nodding even though she can't see him.

"Sounds fair," he says, and she must hear the skepticism in his voice because she sighs.

"I just don't want stand in the way of two people who might be happy together."

He has an uncomfortable flashback to her speech in the basement, how she was going to let him run off with Britta if that's what would make him happy, and clears his throat.

"That's not what you'd be doing, Annie," he insists. "Don't let him manipulate you."

She exhales again, and it's a disturbingly weary sound.

"One more time," she repeats.

He doesn't even bother to argue.

* * *

The bowling alley is as crowded as she'd expect on a Saturday night, but they manage to snag a lane without having to wait.

Duncan seems completely ill at ease in this setting, but he's doing his best to hide his discomfort in front of Delilah. Annie knows from several outings with the group that Jeff isn't really a fan of bowling alleys either. She suspects that it's mainly due to the shoes – she's seen him try to lawyer his way out of wearing them with bowling alley staff on more than one occasion and given his well-documented vanity, it's easy to imagine that he wouldn't want the ugly footwear to ruin an otherwise perfect outfit.

But he's actually a really good bowler – she's seen him bowl over two hundred once or twice – so she thinks that he should be a better sport about the whole thing.

Tonight, he takes the shoes without a fight, probably because Duncan and Delilah are right behind him when the guy behind the counter hands them over. When he's sitting beside Annie on an uncomfortable plastic bench to tie the red and white shoes, though, he shakes his head almost woefully.

"Someone with feet this big shouldn't wear these," he grumbles. "They look like clown shoes."

They kind of do, now that he mentions it, but she assures him that he looks fine. He'll never have any fun if he's worried about how he looks all night.

Her opinion doesn't really matter – because tonight is all about Duncan and Delilah – but Annie usually prefers dates like this, where you actually do something together instead of just sitting around in a restaurant or a bar. It just seems like too much pressure to go to dinner with someone that you hardly know and expect the conversation to flow freely all evening. Having a game or an activity to guide the night along and fill in any awkward silences just makes everything so much easier.

Duncan and Delilah don't really seem to need any help, though – they've been chatting quietly and laughing together since Jeff and Annie showed up. Duncan was on his best behavior Thursday night at the restaurant and is behaving well again tonight, and it seems like Delilah is genuinely charmed. Annie refuses to analyze the why or how of it – she knows as well as anybody that it's pointless to try to figure out why one person is drawn to another.

"What should the teams be?" Duncan asks as he sits down at the scoreboard controls. "Ladies against gentlemen? Or should it be a couples' thing?"

He turns and gives Jeff a pointed look, telegraphing the correct answer.

"Let's do couples," Jeff says, playing along. "Annie's a real sore loser. Which means if I beat her, I'll definitely be paying for it later."

"Like you should talk! You didn't speak to me for almost an hour that time I beat you at ping pong."

He shrugs, offering up one of his most charming smiles.

"And that's why we should be on the same team."

They don't wind up being sore losers together, though – because Duncan and Delilah are pretty terrible bowlers and are much more interested in one another than the game. When they announce that they're going to get another pitcher of beer between frames, Annie figures that they're going to be gone for a while. Delilah grabs her purse from the chair, looking back at Jeff and Annie where they sit together at the scoreboard with a smile. She shakes her head almost fondly.

"You two are just adorable," she declares.

Jeff frowns, looking vaguely insulted as he watches her hurry off to catch up with Duncan.

"She thinks we're adorable?"

Annie shrugs and stands to retrieve her ball.

"She was just being nice."

"But come on," he says. "If anything, we're hot. We'd be a hot couple."

She laughs, stepping up to throw her ball. She manages to knock down all of the pins except the 10 and turns back to him with a smile.

"We could be both. Adorable and hot."

She doesn't know why she is pushing the issue, but the way that he cocks his head and grins pretty much makes it worth it.

"You could," he counters, and he holds her gaze for a long moment, almost like they're having a staring contest he's waiting for her to look away first. "Think you can make that spare?"

He juts his chin toward the lane tauntingly, so when she strolls up to throw her ball, she focuses entirely on knocking that single pin down to answer his challenge – and she nails it, sending the pin skittering backward lightning fast. She doesn't say a word to gloat over it, just smiles the entire time it takes her to walk back to her seat. Jeff doesn't speak either, grabbing his own ball and hauling it at the pins with a strange kind of grace that makes him look unbelievably hot, even in a setting that doesn't exactly foster sexiness and wearing those ridiculous clown shoes.

And with what looks like minimal effort, he has a strike.

"How are you so good at this?" she asks, probably whining just a bit.

He smirks.

"I'm good at everything, Annie. Haven't you realized that by now?"

She smiles, but nudges the tip of his bowling shoe with her own.

"Seriously. Almost every other frame, you throw a strike. That can't be luck, Jeff."

He sits down in the chair beside her at the scoreboard and hangs his head a little. It seems like he's trying to decide whether to answer her or not, and she wonders if she's somehow hit a nerve without even knowing it. He makes a sound that's almost a laugh, though, and smiles tightly.

"After my dad left and it was just my mom and me, she had to work a lot and didn't really have that much time for herself," he says. "But the one thing that she refused to give up was her bowling league. She didn't have anyone to watch me, though, so every Thursday night when she went to bowl with her team, I came along… and I guess the guy who owned the alley felt bad me or something because he'd let me bowl for free. So from the time I was like nine until I was maybe thirteen or fourteen, I bowled every week."

He shrugs, avoiding her eyes, and she knows that he doesn't want to make a big deal out of this - and she certainly understands why. He glances at her after a long moment, smiling softly.

"What about you?" he asks. "You're too good for someone who only bowls every other year on Abed's birthday."

"I was on the bowling team in high school," she admits sheepishly. "I don't really have a lot of athletic ability – I can't throw or catch a ball to save my life - but I ran track, did cheerleading, and bowled. In addition to all my other extracurricular activities. You know, because I wanted a well-rounded resume for college… which is funny in retrospect because I wound up at Greendale where my credentials meant pretty much nothing."

He bumps his shoulder against hers and grins.

"But if you hadn't wound up at Greendale, there wouldn't have been anyone to save it a couple of months back so really, it's a good thing you did."

She smiles, but she kind of wants to point out that he's really the one that saved Greendale, that if he hadn't found a way to open that door, Subway would own the school right now. Then again, it's probably another thing that he really doesn't want to talk about – and she doesn't particularly want to talk about it either, not when it makes her think of the nauseous, chest-crushing feeling that seized her when he announced that he and Britta were getting married. It's over and done with, didn't even happen, and yet it still leaves her feeling shaken, turned around in a way that she doesn't fully understand.

They're having fun, bowling, helping Duncan find a little bit of happiness in his otherwise miserable life, so she shouldn't be thinking about these things – but it's a like a toothache that she can't stop poking at with her tongue, like there's something almost satisfying in the discomfort.

He bends to tie a lace that's come loose on one of his shoes and something about the back of his head, bent low, makes her go poking again.

"Hey," she says. "I've been wondering. Why didn't you ask Britta?"

He pauses, the muscles in his back stretched tight beneath his shirt.

"Ask her what?"

"To be your pretend girlfriend for Duncan. I mean, you were going to marry her so you two would probably be able to pull off the whole couple act pretty convincingly."

He straightens quickly, and his cheeks look flushed – whether it's due to uneasiness about the conversation or just the blood rushing to his head while he was hunched over, she isn't sure.

"Could we?" he asks, almost rhetorically. "You saw right through the whole engagement thing from the start, right?"

The look in his eyes is difficult to read, but he doesn't seem angry. She feels guilty all the same and shakes her head, as if that might erase the entire conversation.

"I'm sorry, Jeff. I didn't mean to—"

"Nothing to be sorry about," he says, smiling again. "It all worked out the way it should. Because you were right."

Duncan and Delilah choose that precise moment to return with the beer, so she doesn't get a chance to ask him what exactly she was right about. It eats at her for the next five or ten minutes of the game, but Jeff goes on a serious roll then, notching five more strikes to her paltry two. It's not a competition, of course, because they're on the same team but he is infuriatingly smug about it and then she doesn't really want any answers from him – she just wants to smack him.

But she's used to her feelings for him being all over the place, so it's really nothing new.

* * *

Annie leaves her jacket in his car, and like some pathetic stalker, he uses it as an excuse to see her Monday morning.

At least he has enough self-control not to do it as soon as he arrives on a campus – he makes it through an hour and fifteen minute long class before he heads to the Dean's office with the red hoodie clutched in his hand like a lifeline. He doesn't have her schedule memorized – he isn't an actual stalker, thank you very much – but he's pretty sure that her class doesn't meet until sometime in the afternoon so she should be working right now.

Finding stupid excuses to see her is definitely pathetic, but the fact that he still doesn't know what to say her, if he should even say anything at all, makes his urgent desire to see her even more pitiful. He's had it pretty easy the past few days, all thanks to Duncan's ridiculous ruse with Delilah, and he's actually starting to feel a little guilty about the whole thing.

Because je's gotten to hang out with Annie and smile at Annie and dance with Annie, even though he's still too chicken shit to tell her how he feels.

Yesterday afternoon, he spent the entire six miles of his run trying to imagine how she would react if he just told her the truth. If he just laid it all out for her plain. He came up with a pretty elaborate scenario - the two of them at her apartment with Abed conveniently out of the picture, him in the cobalt button-down that she always compliments him on and her hair pulled back in a ponytail because he catches her as she's getting ready for bed. She'd offer him one of the cheap beers that they always have in the fridge and maybe there would be noise from the TV or her iPod buzzing in the background as they sat on that lumpy futon and then…

he would…

and she would…

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get to the part where he spoke, couldn't imagine the actual words that he'd say, which meant he couldn't come up with any likely scenarios for her reaction either.

It was all just an annoying blank.

When he gets to the Dean's office, the reception area is empty and he curses his bad luck or poor timing. He's not about to try again, so he folds the hoodie over her chair and grabs a pad of Post-Its from the desk so he can jot down a quick note. Of course, the universe isn't quite done torturing him, though, because before he can make a clean getaway, the door to the Dean's office opens and Craig Pelton comes strolling out, nose deep in a copy of The Star.

Which he promptly drops to the ground as soon as he spots Jeff.

"Jeffrey! Aren't you a sight for sore eyes? Have you been hiding or something? I haven't seen you in ages!"

"I've been here, Craig. Teaching my classes just like you asked me to."

The Dean grins, crossing his arms against his chest.

"And what brings you to my office right now?"

"I was actually looking for Annie. She left her jacket in my car the other day so I was just returning it."

Craig nods, glancing over at the red sweatshirt draped over Annie's chair.

"She's just running a little errand for me." He leans a little closer to Jeff, lowering his voice. "She is the only person who's ever been able to pick out the right concealer shade for me. She's amazing."

Jeff knows that there are definitely much, much worse ways to spend a morning working for the Dean, but Annie is likely livid about being sent off on such a ridiculous task, grumbling the entire time that she stands in line at Sephora.

"She is," he agrees, bending to stick his Post-It note on her hoodie. "And now she's got her jacket back, so I'm gonna go…"

He turns for the door, more than ready to get back to his office and kill a few hours playing on his phone.

"Jeffrey," the Dean calls before he can escape. "I'm just glad that you're not hiding out. I was afraid things might be a little awkward. You know, after what happened in Borchert's lab."

Jeff frowns as he turns to face the smaller man. He feels himself panicking for a moment, convinced that Duncan hasn't upheld his end of their deal and has actually gone around asking people what they think happened in that forgotten basement annex. He never would have imagined that the Dean would be smart enough to put it all together, but then, this is the same guy who'd been perceptive enough to pick up on the thing between Jeff and Annie in the midst of the ass-crack bandit's last reign of terror so it's not entirely impossible.

Jeff isn't about to give anything away, though.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I know who you were looking at," the Dean says, seeming almost shy about the whole thing suddenly. "When you got the computer working again."

Jeff huffs out a deep breath, trying not to react.

"You didn't say anything to her, did you?"

The Dean blinks back at him in confusion.

"Her? Who? What are you…"

He tilts his head, the way that dogs do when it seems like they're trying very hard to understand what's being said to them. Jeff doesn't know if his gaze unconsciously drifts toward the chair where Annie's hoodie lays, but the Dean's does and it becomes clear then that he doesn't know the truth – or didn't until a few seconds ago. Jeff has a sudden embarrassing memory of catching Craig's eye just before they charged out of Borchert's lab and dear God, did the man honestly think that he was the inspiration for Jeff's outpouring of passion?

Without a doubt, that is a thousand times more mortifying that the actual truth, but he really doesn't want to stick around to set him straight, so he turns on a heel and bolts for the door.

"Wait a second, Jeffrey," the Dean says plaintively. "Are you saying that it was—"

The door slams before Jeff can hear the end of his question, the rattling of the blinds echoing in the empty hallway like gunfire.

* * *

Annie is in the middle of making dinner – a grilled cheese and some Campbell's tomato soup because she is in the mood for comfort food – when Britta calls.

For a moment, she thinks about sending the call to voicemail. She hasn't really spoken to Britta since they got out of Borchert's lab and it makes things feel strained and awkward somehow. It's not like she thinks that they really have anything to say to one another about what went down, but she can't seem to get all the leftover thoughts and emotions from that day out of her head long enough to permit a normal, casual conversation.

But Britta's her friend and she can't hide forever and it's much better if they talk now and get any lingering weirdness out of the way than if they wait until September when they're back at Greendale full-time.

So she thumbs on her phone and offers up her most cheerful greeting.

"I need a favor," Britta says, right out of the gate. "It's not a big one or anything, but it's just I have this financial aid form I have to turn in to the Dean by the end of the week and I've kind of decided that I need to take a little break from the craziness that is Greendale… you know, just for my own mental health. Which means I refuse to set foot on campus until September."

Annie hums in understanding, though she's not entirely sure that she really understands. She wonders if it has something to do with Jeff and the fact that he's teaching summer classes and therefore on campus regularly. Abed told her that Britta was just as blasé about calling off the engagement as Jeff was, but maybe she's regretting the decision now and being around Jeff is just a little more than she can bear at the moment.

Annie understands that feeling all too well.

"So if I drop the form off at your place, could you give it to the Dean tomorrow? Abed told me you're working for him so I figured it wouldn't be that big a deal."

"Sure," Annie says. "No problem."

This is good, she thinks as she hangs up the phone. She'll see Britta and talk to Britta and be reassured that everything is fine and normal between them. She's been spending plenty of time with Jeff these days, and if she can get through that, she can get through anything.

That's what she tells herself anyway.

By the time Britta shows up, she's finished her dinner and washed the dishes, which makes the timing kind of perfect because Britta has a pint of vegan mint chocolate chip ice cream with her as payment for the favor.

"I know you're more open-minded about the whole vegan thing than the rest of them," she tells Annie as they sit at the kitchen table and pass the container back and forth between them. "You actually have a conscience."

"It's good. Maybe not as good as Ben and Jerry's but …"

"No animals were exploited to make this," Britta reminds her pointedly, and she nods, comforted almost by her friend's predictability.

"How's your summer been so far?" Annie asks, because small talk seems like the safest route.

Britta shrugs, the spoon hanging out of her mouth.

"Fine. I've been working at the bar every night, which is … well, it is what it is. But tips have actually been pretty good so I might actually be able to swing a trip to Argentina with some old friends in August. How about you?"

"Well, I'm taking a class to get one of my requirements out of the way," Annie says. "And I'm working for the Dean, which is about as ridiculous as you'd imagine so…"

Britta grins conspiratorially, leaning in to lower her voice.

"Abed said he thought you went on a date the other night. He said you were all dressed up."

Annie tenses, sitting up stiff and straight in her chair and nearly dropping her spoon. It's ridiculous, of course, because she hasn't done anything wrong – she's not really dating Jeff, after all – but she doesn't want to explain the whole ridiculous story, she doesn't want to give Britta the chance to give her one of those knowing, slightly condescending looks that seems to say, "Oh, you poor, silly girl with your stupid crush on Jeff Winger," like somehow Annie has plotted the whole thing in an effort to spend time with him.

"No," she insists. "You know Abed. He reads into everything because he wants real life to be more dramatic than it actually is. I think he's severely disappointed with how boring my life in particular is."

"So you're not seeing—"

Annie's phone buzzes then with an incoming text and she thumbs on the display to check it, shooting Britta an apologetic smile. When she reads the message, she laughs out loud: Duncan wants her and Jeff to play their roles with Delilah for what he swears – on his own life and his mother's grave, though she hasn't actually died yet - will be the last time even though she and Jeff made it very clear before they left the bowling alley that they were finished with the whole thing. At this point, he is seriously pushing his luck.

"What's so funny?" Britta asks.

"Oh, it's just Duncan. He's insane."

"Duncan?" Britta repeats, her eyes wide. "Oh my God! Are you seeing *Duncan*?"

"Oh, God, no!" Annie practically cries. "No. It's nothing like that. At all."

Britta tilts her head, smiling knowingly.

"Why is he texting you then? When did you two get to be such buddies?"

"He needs a favor, Britta. That's all. Believe me. And it's a long story that I don't really feel like getting into at the moment."

"Fine, fine," Britta says, reaching for the pint of ice cream. "But just for the record, I don't really think Duncan's your type."

"Do I have a type?" Annie asks, almost rhetorically.

Britta nods her head vigorously.

"But that's the kind of thing you've got to figure out on your own. If you don't see it yourself, it doesn't really matter how many people tell you."

Annie isn't entirely sure that she believes Britta, but she doesn't bother to argue. She doesn't have much time to think about it anyway because right after Britta leaves, she gets several more pleading texts from Duncan - and she tells herself again and again not to give in, not to be swayed by his pitiful begging and desperate assertions that this is his very last chance at happiness.

And really, it doesn't matter whether she agrees or not because Jeff never will, so she asks Duncan the very simple question that she figures will put an end to all of it.

_What does Jeff say?_

Less than a minute later, she gets Duncan's response.

_Haven't asked. You'll talk him into it… he does whatever you want._

She reads the text at least ten times, fascinated by the notion that anyone could see her relationship with Jeff like that. But then she realizes that it's Duncan point of view that she's considering, which is flawed at best, and the whole thing just seems utterly ridiculous.

Though maybe not as ridiculous as the fact that she actually calls Jeff to try to talk him into it.

She really is a sucker.

* * *

He finishes loading his dishwasher, which is probably seeing more action tonight than it has in all the previous time that he's lived in this apartment combined, and, not for the first time this evening, he curses Ian Duncan.

Logically, he knows that he should actually be cursing Annie, who is currently sprawled across his sofa in a drowsy, giggly state as a result of hitting the wine a little too hard, because really, all of this is her fault.

After all, she is the one who called and explained that Duncan wanted just one more small favor from them and then, finally, once and for all, their part in his fragile romance with Delilah would be complete. Jeff doesn't know what Duncan said to not only rope her into going along with the prolonged insanity, but somehow get her to convince him to go along with it too, but he figures it had to be something impressively manipulative on Duncan's part.

Of course, it really didn't take much for Annie to get Jeff to agree – the entire conversation had taken place over the phone so he wasn't even subjected to those ridiculously blue eyes of hers that could persuade him to do just about anything. This time, it was just the sound of her voice, low and a little wistful, that did him in.

Which is how he found himself agreeing to host a dinner party at his apartment for Duncan and Delilah.

Technically, he was host in name only. Annie did all the prep work and cooking while he lounged on the sofa with a beer, watching the Rockies' pre-game show.

"I don't know why you say you can't cook," she shouted from his kitchen, where she stirred something in a frying pan. "You made that pasta dish with the caramelized onions and spinach that one time that was absolutely delicious. I dreamed about it for like a week afterward."

"I didn't say I *can't* cook," he called back. "I said I *won't* cook. Because I refuse to do any more work to benefit Duncan than is absolutely necessary."

"This is the last time. He promised."

"Yeah, like the last time and the time before that. If we let him keep this up, we'll wind up pretend married with pretend kids. And a pretend dog."

He waited for her to make some clever retort or lecture him about being a good friend, but the apartment was silent, save for the sounds of an annoying commercial for Sonic and whatever was sizzling in his frying pan. When he turned to look at her, she stood at the stove, facing away from him, her back a rigid line beneath the gauzy sea foam fabric of her shirt. He couldn't figure out what he'd said to warrant the cold shoulder, but it didn't seem like the right time to push the issue, what with Duncan and Delilah due to show up at any moment.

Now, she is loose-limbed and a little silly, clutching a half full wine glass to her chest and kicking her shoes off with a flourish beneath his coffee table. He tries not to notice the color in her cheeks or the way the wine has stained her lips a glistening ruby color or the bare skin of her arms in her sleeveless blouse or the bow tie at its neckline that's just screaming to be untied with his teeth or the lacy purple trim of her bra where the shirt is gaping low. He slumps at the opposite end of the sofa with his own hard-earned glass of scotch and smiles gamely.

"I'm going to have to pour you into the car to get you home," he teases. "Aren't I?"

She shoves at his knee with her bare foot, the gleaming pale pink polish on her toes catching the light.

"I'm fine," she insists, trying to push herself upright and failing miserably. "I'll be fine anyway."

He watches her foot shift back and forth against his dark pants and sips from his glass. His apartment is quiet and dim, and there is something so intimate about the entire scene that it leaves him feeling a little unsettled - but he doesn't move or shift away from her. Instead, he curls his hand around her ankle and strokes the soft skin there with his thumb.

"It went well," Annie says, swirling the wine around in her glass absently. "The dinner. I mean, she really seems to like Duncan. Like a lot."

Jeff nods – he isn't about to mention the whole pretending thing or how good they are it again, considering that something about it seemed to set her off earlier. He wants to keep things light, easy.

"Looks like your grandmother was right. There really is someone for everyone. I mean, if Duncan can find a woman, there's hope for all of us."

She tilts her head, looking contemplative even as she sips at her wine. He wishes that he'd turned the TV on when he sat down so there was something to serve as a distraction and they both didn't feel the need to fill the silence. He can feel Annie studying him, the slow burn of her eyes as they trace over his profile, and he dares himself to look at her.

"I've been worried about you," she says, in a soft, tentative voice that's nearly a whisper. "Since you wound up in the hospital. Since you …"

She hesitates, and he is certain that she's thinking of Britta, of that one stupid, impulsive decision – and he decides that if she does bring that up, it is well past time to clear the air, to just tell her the truth, even if she's tipsy and drowsy. He's also getting the feeling that she's maybe, possibly, contemplated the idea that he was trying to off himself when he mixed those stupid ant-aging pills with booze, and he shifts uncomfortably, hoping she doesn't notice.

"Since you were so ready to give up on Greendale like it was just nothing," she finishes. "I don't like to think of you giving up like that. It makes me feel…"

She shakes her head, like she can't quite bear to think of the experience again. He lowers his eyes, studying her painted toes again. He isn't sure what to say, because he wants to reassure her but his first impulse is nearly always to give up and there's no sugarcoating that.

"I'm fine," he says, trying to sound like his usual confident self. "You don't need to worry anymore."

"O-kay," she nearly sing-songs, though he detects a trace of skepticism in her breezy tone. "But if you don't feel fine, you have to tell me, okay? Don't… just don't go and do something stupid again. Promise?"

He looks at her, all squinty-eyed and flushed, and he wants to do the stupidest thing possible – kiss her when she's drunk and completely not expecting it. But he restrains himself, like he's done a thousand times before, and nods.

"I promise."

"Good." She reaches out to set her glass on the coffee table and stretches her arms over her head, somehow groaning and yawning at the same time. "I'm so sleepy."

She turns on her side, pulling her knees up toward her chest and tucking her hands under the throw pillow beneath her head. He watches her for a minute, her steady breathing and fluttering lashes. There's no point in trying to get her home now, so he gets the cashmere throw from the foot of his bed and drapes it over her, careful not to wake her.

He finishes his scotch alone in his bedroom like he's done plenty of nights before.

* * *

She's never been the kind of person who can waste a day doing absolutely nothing, so because the dull headache that's been nagging at her since she opened her eyes this morning has left her in no shape to read for her class, she spends her Saturday cleaning out her closet.

It really isn't a necessary task, but she feels productive sorting through her clothing and shoes, separating items into piles to keep, donate, and trash.

If she's honest, the real motivation for staying busy is to keep her mind off the fact that she woke up on Jeff's couch this morning – all because she foolishly indulged in a little too much wine at their dinner party with Duncan and Delilah and promptly passed out before he could drive her home. Worse than that embarrassment, though, is the vague memory of telling Jeff that she's been worried about him so he knows exactly how much his behavior has affected her.

He already knew, of course, – she can't forget that damn speech that she made in Borchert's lab no matter how hard she tries – but reminding him of just how much she cares only leaves them both feeling uncomfortable. She knows that from hard earned experience, and yet she never seems to learn her lesson.

So when she woke on his sofa, her temples throbbing and her teeth feeling fuzzy, she could have kicked herself. It was barely eight so she knew that Jeff wasn't up yet, which meant she had to sit there with nothing but her thoughts to keep her company until he woke and could drive her home.

She thought about calling Abed, but then she'd have to confess that she'd slept at Jeff's and while it was totally innocent, Abed would run wild with his speculating and dramatizing (When she'd left last night to meet Jeff at his car, Abed had asked if she was going on another date – it was Friday night and she was dressed nicely enough that it was a reasonable assumption to make. She made up a story about Jeff needing help coming up with a syllabus for one of his classes for next semester and Abed bought it pretty easily. She doesn't want to explain the whole mess with Duncan to him because she knows exactly how Abed will view the situation – she and Jeff playing a couple until the deception becomes very real or some other similar plot plucked from a bad romantic comedy that he's seen a hundred times). A taxi was a possibility too, but she thought that hurrying off without talking to Jeff would only make the whole situation even more awkward, like it was a bigger deal than it actually was.

So she borrowed a little of his mouthwash to get rid of the awful, dry taste in her mouth and sat on his sofa, reading the newspaper, checking her email, and playing Solitaire on her phone until a little after ten when he came stumbling out of the bedroom. He was rocking serious bedhead and stubble that somehow made him look even more appealing, and she felt strangely self-conscious about her tangled, sleep-matted hair, smudged eye makeup, and wrinkled clothes.

On the way back to her apartment, he stopped to buy them both coffee and made his usual joke about how much sugar she puts in hers so it seemed like he wasn't holding anything against her.

She just can't seem to cut herself the same slack.

She is sitting on her bed, trying to untangle the knot of purses that she found on her closet floor like it's her life's work when Abed knocks on her door. It's nearly dinner time and he probably wants to choose a place to order delivery from – he gets pretty cranky if he doesn't eat at precisely six every night.

"I'm not going to be here for dinner," is what he says, though, and it isn't exactly a surprise that he's going out. He's been out with Rachel a lot in the past few months, and it's nice to see him so happy. If she's honest, though, it's also really nice to get some quality time alone in the apartment and she's already envisioning a bubble bath with candles and mellow music once he leaves.

"What are you and Rachel doing tonight?"

"I'm not going out with Rachel," he says. "I'm actually hanging out with Jeff."

She looks up from the mess of purses in her lap in surprise. As far as she knows, Abed and Jeff don't spend a lot of one-on-one time with each other. Even since Troy left, they see each other mainly in group settings. It's not exactly strange that they would make plans – they used to spend time alone together once upon a time - but it's surprising none the less.

"Really?" she asks, hoping that she doesn't sound as interested as she really is.

Abed nods.

"As much as I love spending time with Rachel, a little male bonding is necessary every now and then." He shrugs. "We're going to a sports bar to watch the Rockies' game. I don't know much about baseball but it seems like a class male bonding scenario so I'm willing to go along with it."

"This was Jeff's idea?"

"Yep. I was a little surprised myself because we don't typically socialize like this but I suspect he's re-evaluating his relationships in light of almost losing Greendale and his playing hero at the final hour."

Annie looks down again – there is a silver sequined clutch that she bought on a whim nearly three years ago and still has never used resting on her thigh and she runs her fingers along the shiny, textured surface, a loose sequin catching under her nail. She doesn't know if Abed is right about Jeff's motivations, but it isn't exactly ordinary behavior for him and when she stops to consider the fact that he gave up his Friday night for Duncan and is spending his Saturday evening with Abed instead of trolling the bars for a new playmate (though he is technically going to be at a bar tonight, she knows that picking up women is not on the agenda because Jeff doesn't need a wingman. And even if he did, she's certain that Abed wouldn't exactly flourish in the role) does seem significant.

For a fleeting moment, she wonders if it has something to do with Britta, but he's seemed genuinely unaffected, maybe even disinterested, the few times that Annie has gathered the courage to mention her name in his presence so it doesn't seem likely.

"Seems plausible, right?" Abed asks, looking at Annie expectantly.

She shrugs.

"You're better at figuring out character motivation than I am."

He nods briskly.

"I'll let you know if my theory holds after tonight."

She knows what Abed is doing, that this is his clumsy way of trying to look out for her, and though she appreciates it, there is part of her that wants to tell him not to bother. But he wouldn't listen anyway, so there's really no point.

"I'll see you later then," he says.

"Let's go Rockies," she calls after him, all full of false cheer.

Later, when she's lying in the tub, she gets a text from Jeff.

_I'm pretty sure you know more about baseball than Abed does._

She agonizes over how to respond for nearly five minutes and even then, the best that she can come up with is a smiley face emoticon.

* * *

On the Fourth of July, Shirley decides to have a barbecue.

The boys are in California with Andre, visiting his brother, so she is probably missing them and looking for some way to distract herself. It's the first time that the group – minus Abed, who's in Denver with Rachel – are going to be together since the whole saving Greendale thing and Shirley invites Duncan, Dean Pelton, and even Chang in the spirit of camaraderie, as well as some of her friends from the neighborhood. She promises that it will be low-key and relaxed, though Jeff is pretty sure that the fact that she spent nearly six hours painting stars and stripes on cupcakes with icing means that she's taking it pretty seriously.

He offers Annie a ride because her apartment is on the way to Shirley's and she's big on carpooling. His reason for asking, though, isn't as innocent as concern for the environment. He's hoping that a little more time alone with her will allow him to work up the nerve to finally lay his cards on the table. The longer he waits, the more he realizes that not telling her how he feels isn't really an option – mostly because he feels the knowledge threatening to overtake him every time that he sees her and he thinks that she's starting to sense something is off.

If he doesn't want to really fuck things up between them, he just has to rip off the band aid once and for all.

He's still terrified of the fall-out, though – of every single scenario.

Because as much as it would suck for her to tell him that sure, she loves him but he just waited too damn long to man up and she got tired of waiting – and he isn't kidding himself; he knows that is a distinct possibility – it might be even more alarming if she actually wants to give them a try.

He knows that he loves her and he knows that she loves him, but too many times, love doesn't mean a whole hell of a lot in the end. His mother loved his father, after all, and where the hell did that get her?

But he's starting to realize that if he never tells her, if he just keeps it all to himself for another five, ten, fifteen years, they'll be stuck in the uncomfortable limbo that they've been in for as long as he can remember, which isn't doing either of them any favors. If he tells her, no matter what happens, at least they'll have to move forward in one direction or another.

Annie is dressed for the occasion in a white tank top, navy shorts, and red polka dot wedges that give her a few extra inches of height and make her legs look even longer. Her lipstick is red too, and he is fascinated with the shape of her mouth to the point of distraction.

"When I was a kid, the fourth of July always seemed like the beginning of summer," she says as they stand in the shade and sip beers. "Now it seems like it's smack dab in the middle. Time gets weird when you're older, you know?"

He nods, but he has to resist the urge to tell her that if she thinks time is weird now, she should wait until she's forty - then it becomes a fucking barrel of laughs. Since the other night when she told him that she's been worried about him, he's reluctant to say anything that might give her more cause for concern. He watches her slide her sunglasses back onto her head, pushing her hair out of her face, and he finds himself wondering if she remembered sunscreen because it would be a crime if anything marred that perfect porcelain skin of hers.

"You're quiet," she says, smiling faintly.

He tenses, trying to figure out what he should say, if now is the moment to tell her, but before he can get a word out, Britta charges over, glancing over her shoulder as she hurries toward them.

"Did you know Duncan has a girlfriend?" she practically gasps. "How does *that* happen?"

Jeff feels his sixth sense for trouble kick in, and he glances around the yard discretely, trying to locate the man in question.

"Why do you think he has a girlfriend?" he asks as casually as he can.

"Because he's here with some hot little redheaded number."

"Delilah's here?" Annie hisses, clutching Jeff's forearm in alarm. "He didn't tell us she was coming!"

"Delilah?" Britta laughs, shaking her head. "Is that really her name? And how do you guys know her?"

Before Jeff can point out the irony of Britta making fun of someone else's name, Delilah steps around a knot of Shirley's neighbors, waving as soon as she sees them.

"Jeff! Annie! Ian didn't tell me you guys were going to be here."

She reaches out to give Annie a hug, and Annie laughs nervously as she returns the embrace.

"He didn't tell us either," Jeff says. He steps behind Annie and drops a hand to her shoulder, hoping it looks intimate to Delilah and casual enough to Britta. "Happy Fourth of July."

Apparently, the gesture isn't casual enough because Britta narrows her eyes and frowns.

"O-kay, what's going on—"

"Oh, look! You've found Jeff and Annie." Duncan ambles over, as if he's just sensed impending disaster. "And Britta too. Delilah, this is Britta. She's another dear friend from Greendale."

Delilah smiles, holding her hand out to Britta.

"It's nice to meet you. Any friend of Ian's and all that."

"Yeah. You too. So tell me… how do you all—"

"Britta!" Shirley leans over the deck railing with a pair of tongs in her hand. "I have no idea on God's green earth how to cook these tofu steaks. If you want them to be edible, you better get your vegetarian butt up here."

"Excuse me," Britta says to the group, her voice as cheerful as it gets.

But as she turns to head up the deck stairs, she shoots Jeff and Annie a look that clearly says she expects an explanation later.

"I'm going to get a drink," Delilah says. "Can I get anyone anything?"

Jeff, Duncan and Annie all politely decline, and once she is out of sight, Jeff glares at Duncan.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Bringing her here and not warning us? She could be asking people about us as we speak and ruining your whole little ruse."

"Oh, cool your jets," Duncan laughs. "This isn't a sitcom, Jeff. She's not going to go up to anyone and start yammering on and about how you two are couple. That's not how people talk in real life… but maybe you've forgotten that because you've been hanging around with Abed too long."

"What if Jeff or I had a brought a date?" Annie counters, and Duncan rolls his eyes like the mere idea is ridiculous. She scowls all the same. "After everything we've done to help you, the least you could do is show us the courtesy of not putting us on the spot like this."

Duncan shrugs, clearly not seeing any of this as big deal.

"You two both need to relax just a tad. I will keep Delilah clear on the other side of the yard, so you don't have to keep up the act. If that's even what you're doing at this point."

He gives them a pointed look before turning and following Delilah to the table that's serving as the bar. Jeff knows exactly what Duncan is implying, but he doesn't want to acknowledge it, not when he hasn't managed to tell Annie about his feelings yet. She seems similarly uncomfortable, picking at the edge of the label on her beer bottle with her nail.

"We should probably still stay close to each other," she says. Her face looks a little flushed, but that could be from the heat or the alcohol. "You know, just for appearances. But we're not doing this for Duncan. We're doing it for Delilah."

He nods in agreement.

"You know who would love this?" he asks. "Abed. This is literally bad TV come to life."

She laughs, seeming a little bit more at ease. He bumps his shoulder against hers and smiles.

"Since we're stuck with each other for the rest of this thing," he says. "How about another beer?"

At the cooler, he teases her about her insistence on light beer and she teases him right back, feigning astonishment that he's willing to indulge in all the carbs that are in his imported lager. She also correctly guesses that it probably means that he's going to find some way to make up for it, so later, when he wraps his cheeseburger in a lettuce leaf, she shakes her head in amusement, smiling like she knows all of his secrets.

He's surprised by how little that scares him.

After dark, most of the party moves to the far side of Shirley's yard where the town's fireworks show at the Village Green is partially visible above the trees. One of Shirley's neighbors has smuggled in some sparklers, though, and Annie practically does a happy dance when she sees them. She manages to sweet talk the guy into sharing a couple so they can have a little illegal fun of their own.

"I haven't played with one of these since I was little," she says excitedly, climbing up on top of an empty picnic table and tapping her feet against the bench as he lights a sparkler for her. "My dad would sneak them for us because my mother was always convinced we'd light ourselves on fire. Or burn the house down."

He boosts himself up on the table beside her with his own lit sparkler.

"So did the fire department ever have to come?"

She shakes her head, but she's paying more attention to the sparks flying off the end of the stick in her hand than she is to him. He watches as she tries to write her name in the air, biting her lip as she concentrates on the task. The sparkler throws soft white light over her face so he can see her frustration when the "A" starts to fade as soon as she makes the first "N" – but she keeps going, trying over and over to do it faster and better so the entire thing blazes in the air for a least a second.

And when she finally manages it, she turns to him, beaming, and his only thought at that moment is, Fuck, I love you – and he knows that he has to tell her because it's torture, for both of them, and time may be weird but it really is slipping away with every minute that he waits and he's forty fucking years old and he's already wasted so much of his damn life.

He still doesn't know how to say it, though, so he thinks it's best to charge ahead, just blurt it out, because if he worries about phrasing it perfectly, he won't ever do it.

(He recognizes the irony of finding himself at a loss for words, considering they are his bread and butter, but then he doesn't have significant practice giving voice to his real feelings, all the stuff that truly matters, so it shouldn't be all that surprising.)

"Annie," he says, in a low, steady voice. "There's something I need to talk to you about…"

She looks over at him, still smiling as sparks fly from her fingertips.

"Yeah?"

"It's kind of—"

"I finally found you two!" Britta emerges from the darkness, seemingly out of nowhere. "And you've got some explaining to do. You know, the whole weird thing with you guys and Duncan's girlfriend. Spill it. Now."

He is caught completely off-guard, flustered to an embarrassing degree, so he grabs his beer and takes a sip to get the heat off of him. That leaves Annie stuck sheepishly explaining the whole ridiculous story to Britta, while he focuses on the sparkler still smoldering in his hand.

If he's honest with himself, he's not really comfortable seeing Annie and Britta together like this. He cuts himself plenty of slack in most situations, but there's no way around the fact that asking one woman to marry you while you've been suppressing feelings for another for years, only to come to the realization a couple of hours after said engagement that you're actually in love with the latter, makes you an undeniable douchebag. Seeing the two of them together painfully reinforces that idea – and he can't imagine how bad it's going to get if he actually tells Annie how he feels.

"I don't get why you two would go along with it," Britta is saying, and he latches onto a safe portion of the conversation to draw himself out of those uncomfortable thoughts.

"He conned Annie by appealing to the romantic in her. He spewed all this crap about how everyone deserves love and she fell for it."

Annie swats at his arm, holding her nearly burnt-out sparkler carefully.

"Well, she really seems to like him," Annie defends. "So maybe we did the right thing."

"How he'd get you to do it, though?" Britta asks, turning to Jeff. "You don't have a romantic bone in your body so we know he didn't appeal to your bleeding heart."

"Yeah," Annie says, tilting her head. "You agreed to help him before I even got involved and I never heard how he talked you into it."

He definitely isn't about to tell them that Duncan threatened to start courting speculation as to what it was that Jeff felt strongly enough about to get Borchert's computer back up and running, so he just shrugs.

"A good old-fashioned cash bribe," he lies. "The whole ill-fated law firm experiment last year cleaned me out, so I'm a little desperate."

"Whoring yourself out to Duncan is pretty desperate," Britta agrees.

"Think you could find another way to phrase that?"

Britta just smirks.

"If the sleazy shoe fits, you gotta wear it."

He looks over at Annie, who's sliding the tip of her burnt out sparkler into a cup of water.

"It's still a nice thing that you did," she says. "Because I can't believe he paid you that much."

He smiles at her, feeling more than a little guilty – because she might not think that he's done such a nice thing if she knew that he was using Duncan's stupid ploy with Delilah as an excuse to spend time with her without actually having to own up to his feelings.

"I think it's pretty crappy that you're fooling this poor woman," Britta declares. "I mean, she should know what she's getting mixed in up with Duncan, shouldn't she?"

"But we are technically his friends," Annie points out. "We just fudged the couple thing to make her feel a little more comfortable. I don't think it's that bad…"

She looks over at him for confirmation and he shrugs.

"So you guys are stuck being a fake couple until they break up?" Britta frowns. "Isn't that kind of ridiculous?"

"This is Duncan we're talking about," Jeff says. "I give this relationship two, three more months tops. And how often are we going to actually be around them like this?"

"And if it ever got to be too much," Annie muses. "We could just have a pretend breakup."

She lifts her shoulders - because really it's that simple - and he nods in agreement. She and Britta start chatting about Abed and Rachel, how they're still going strong after all this time, but Jeff doesn't really have any interest in the conversation and sullenly sips from his beer.

At the end of the night, he tells himself that he still hasn't told Annie the truth because circumstances won't allow it – Chang gets trashed on red, white and blue daiquiris and Shirley guilts Jeff into driving him home. Because the hovel that he lives in is actually closer to Jeff's place than Annie's, they drop Annie off first, waiting at the curb until she's inside safely. For a minute, he thinks about going after her, but then Chang burps in his ear and suddenly keeping his backseat safe from puke becomes top priority.

So that's all it is that keeps him from telling her – circumstances.

It's definitely not because he's lost his nerve.


	3. Chapter 3

By the third hour of scanning documents – with two paper cuts and a horrifying encounter with a spider to show for it – she is seriously regretting telling the Dean that Greendale should go paperless.

It's better for the environment, she preached to him. And it'll save time and money in the long run.

Of course, she should have realized that there's not enough money in the budget at present to actually hire a document imaging company so he'd task her with converting nearly 40 years' worth of paper files to digital copies.

Why did she have to open her big mouth, she thinks ruefully – a thought that she has frequently at Greendale, actually, so she should know by now that she almost always winds up shouldering the load. But then, she was also the one leading the brigade to save this place, so if she really didn't want to get stuck with chores like this, she probably shouldn't have bothered in the first place.

Her only solace is that there is no way that the project will be done by the end of the summer, which means Rhonda will have to finish it up when the fall semester starts.

She comes across a stack of files so covered with dust and cobwebs that she's too busy trying to get the grime off her hands without staining her pants to notice Jeff when he comes into the office. At some point, though, he clears his throat pointedly and she looks up to find him leaning against the other side of the counter with an amused smirk.

"How long have you been there?" she asks, trying not to sound as flustered as she feels.

"Oh, only a minute … or five." He lifts the divide in the counter so he can step behind it and toward her desk. "You're pretty amusing, you know that?"

He is smiling genuinely, and she finds herself mimicking him because that's the effect that he usually has on her. Maybe it's just all the time that they've been spending together in the name of Duncan's love life, but she's been relieved at how normal things seem between them lately. But then, she considers the fact that maybe Jeff's been able to act so comfortably around her, even in light of what went down in Borchert's lab, because she is so far in his friend zone that her feelings for him aren't really a concern.

"Here I am, trying to pull Greendale out of the Stone Age by going paperless and you're laughing at me? That's the thanks I get around here, I guess."

He perches on the edge of her desk, pushing the stack of dusty files aside.

"You already saved this place, Annie. I think you've earned a break."

She looks up at him, schooling her features in a neutral expression.

"*You* already saved Greendale," she corrects.

Maybe it's just the terrible fluorescent lighting outside the Dean's office, but she would swear that he blushes just a bit, the color high along his cheekbones.

"*We* already saved Greendale," he says. "So come take a break with me. Soft serve from the cafeteria, my treat. I'll even pay the extra 50 cents for the rainbow sprinkles you like."

She smiles, almost against her will, and wonders how she could be expected not to love him when he does silly, little things like this that seem to fill all of empty spaces inside her.

"Big spender," she teases.

He shrugs casually and they grin at one another in the dusty space around her desk. She opens the side drawer to grab her phone, but before they can actually leave, the door to the Dean's office opens and he emerges, his attention focused intently on the shiny magazine in his head.

"Annie, do you think I could pull off a scarf? There's a picture of David Beckham in this purple and…"

He trails off when he glances up and sees Jeff sitting on the corner of her desk.

"Oh, Jeffrey. I didn't know you were here."

He looks away almost instantly, and if Annie didn't know better, she would swear that there's something almost cool in the Dean's tone – which is obviously ridiculous because he loves Jeff and unexpected Jeff encounters almost as much as playing dress up and Dalmatians.

"I just stopped by to take Annie out for her break," Jeff says, standing and stepping toward the door.

The Dean nods briskly.

"Of course you did."

He seems almost annoyed, which ticks her off because she's been working steadily for the past three hours, even ate lunch at her desk, so she definitely deserves a breather.

"I won't be long," she says. "Like twenty minutes tops."

Jeff hums his agreement.

"Yeah. I'll have her back in twenty minutes. Scout's honor."

The Dean stays stubbornly silent as they head out the door, though, and once they're safely in the hallway, she looks up at Jeff in confusion.

"What was all that about?"

He stares back at her blankly.

"The Dean," she clarifies. "Acting all weird?"

Jeff smirks, but the humor doesn't quite make it all the way to his eyes.

"That's something new?"

"It was a different kind of weird. It's like he didn't want me to take my break… and he was giving you major attitude. That's bizarre. I mean, he's practically the president of your fan club."

Jeff chuckles.

"Wow. You really do need a break. Because you're starting to imagine things."

He's smiling, but there's something almost evasive about his expression.

Of course, she has been cooped up in the office all day, mindlessly scanning documents, so maybe he's right and she's just gone a little stir crazy. So many things with Jeff seems to set her on edge anyway, which means that she should probably just let this go.

He holds the cafeteria door open for her, and she heads inside, telling herself to focus on something legitimately important like whether she's in the mood for vanilla or chocolate ice cream.

As usual, Jeff goes with strawberry.

* * *

He is eternally grateful to the good folks at Albertson Educational Publishers who put out the textbook for his summer class.

Not only have they made it easy for him to structure his lectures – all of the key words in bold print and the talking points at the end of each chapter are like Cliff Notes for the unmotivated educator – but they include tests, complete with easy to read answer keys, so grading is a breeze too. There are almost 30 people in this class, and he's made it more than halfway through the pile of exams in the past 25 minutes alone.

All things considered, he doesn't have much to complain about.

Until his office door creaks open and Duncan pokes his head in.

"No," Jeff says immediately. "Whatever you're about to ask me to do, the answer is no."

Duncan steps inside, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Whoa, whoa. So a friend can't visit another friend without having some ulterior motive? You are way too cynical for your own good, Jeffrey."

"The last five times we've seen each other, you've wanted something from me. It's not cynicism but experience that tells me that's probably the case now too."

Duncan crosses his arms against his chest, looking smug.

"For your information," he says. "I came here to warn you. Delilah mentioned that she was going to call Annie and invite you two out to dinner. I thought you should have the heads up because we both know that Annie, as kind-hearted as she is, will agree. And talk you into going as well."

Jeff lowers his head, studying the last red mark that he made on the exam in front of him.

"And," Duncan continues. "Just so you know, I'm totally on to you."

"What? That I don't have much motivation to do things that don't directly benefit me? That's not exactly news."

"Ah, but see, that's just it. This does directly benefit you, doesn't it?"

Jeff looks up with a frown.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm a pretty terrible psychologist," Duncan admits, sitting in the rickety wooden chair opposite Jeff's desk. "I can admit that. But even someone with my limited skill set can see what's right in front of his face. Screaming right in his face, actually."

Jeff sighs, tapping his pen against his desk impatiently.

"Am I supposed to know what that means?"

"It means," Duncan enunciates carefully. "That you can stop pretending that you've done anything as a favor to me. You want to spend time with sweet, little Annie but you're too afraid to man up and tell her that. So you'll use my situation with Delilah to get what you want without having to do any real work."

Jeff panics for a minute and seriously considers playing dumb - because God knows that he has plenty of experience convincing judges and juries of much more far-fetched things. It's partly because he doesn't want to talk about Annie with the likes of Duncan, but it's mostly because he is embarrassed beyond belief that he's apparently so transparent in his intentions and motivations that even a clueless, semi-functioning alcoholic like Duncan could figure them out – which means it's only a matter of time before Annie puts it together herself.

If she hasn't already.

Fuck.

"You are very confusing, though," Duncan says. "I mean, it was just a few months ago that you were asking Britta to marry you and now you're ass over teakettle for Annie? Your therapist must be having a field day with you."

Jeff shuffles the papers on his desk needlessly, avoiding eye contact.

"I'm technically not in therapy at the moment," he admits. "It was one of the expenses I had to cut when my law firm went belly up… and I haven't gotten around to going back yet."

"Well, there's your first problem. I would offer up my services but clearly our friendship would cloud my professionalism and –"

"And you just admitted that you suck."

Duncan gives him haughty smirk.

"Beggars should definitely not be choosers, Jeff."

He's more than had enough at this point, so he clears his throat and taps his pen against the stack of papers in front of him.

"I appreciate all the advice," he says. "But I've got exams to grade and I don't—"

"I don't really get it either," Duncan interrupts, though he takes the hint and stands, moving toward the door. "You don't have any trouble with the ladies. You don't lack confidence. Why don't you just tell her how you feel and be done with it?"

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

"I haven't been able to find the right moment."

The sound of Duncan's hearty laughter is bad enough, but the sight of him tossing his head back as he roars makes it so much worse. He even dabs at his eyes when he finally gets his breathing under control again, having apparently moved himself to tears.

"Okay. Sure. Whatever you say." He cocks his head, smiling giddily. "I can't be the only one utterly amused by the role reversal here. I mean, it was just a few months back that you were helping me out with a woman – I won't mention what woman it was, out of kindness to you – and now I have a beautiful, steady girlfriend and you're too much of a coward to tell a woman that you like her. Isn't life a funny, marvelous thing?"

He shakes his head in amusement as he heads out the door, humming under his breath in his annoying way.

Jeff kind of wants to put his fist through a wall.

The truth is bad enough.

The truth delivered by a gloating Ian Duncan is a level of hell that he's not even sure deserves.

He tries to go back to grading, tries to use his work as a distraction, but it doesn't quite work – not when he finds himself pettily taking points off one exam because the student in question – Mandi who spells her name with a heart over the I – made the mistake of using a purple pen.

But he's the damn teacher; he can do whatever the hell he wants.

* * *

In the bright light of the restaurant bathroom, Annie finds herself admiring Delilah's thick auburn waves.

It's not the first time that she's envied the woman's hair – actually, she's kind of wanted red hair ever since she first saw 'The Little Mermaid', and just before she started at Greendale, she seriously thought about her dying her hair a rich auburn color as part of her fresh start. She had the fair skin and blue eyes that made her think that she could pull off the look, but she chickened out at the last minute – there'd been too many changes in her life then and looking into the mirror and not being able to recognize herself seemed like it might push her over the edge.

Delilah catches her eye in the bathroom mirror and smiles.

"I'm really glad you guys were free tonight," she says, fluffing her lovely hair. "Ian thought Jeff might be busy with school stuff."

They've just finished up dinner at Delilah's favorite restaurant, a casual, little Italian place with an outdoor patio surrounded by a brilliantly blooming garden, and left the guys at the table with the difficult task of figuring out the dessert order. It's a slightly different outing than all their previous ones because the evening came about not as a result of Duncan coaxing Jeff and Annie into yet another fake double date, but because Delilah called her to invite them and Annie just didn't have the heart to say no to a woman who's been so nice to them.

Some small, judgmental part of her wonders if she's just using Delilah's invitation as an excuse to spend more time with Jeff, to get to act like his significant other for one more evening, which is pathetic enough to make her wince. The fact that it didn't take much effort to convince him to come, though, does make her feel a little better – clearly, he doesn't mind spending time with her either. That has to count for something.

"Please," she says to Delilah. "Jeff is always looking for an excuse to take a break."

Delilah laughs, nodding as she searches through her purse for a tube of lipstick.

"You know, I actually feel pretty lucky. Not only did I meet Ian, but I made a couple of new friends out of the deal too. It's pretty nice."

Annie lowers her head, feeling more than a little guilty. Under different circumstances – if she weren't lying to the woman – she thinks that they could genuinely be friends. Now, she just feels like a fraud.

"I'm just glad you and Ian are getting along so well. I'm one of those people who wants everyone around them to be happy, and there's this silly, romantic part of me that always seems to think that means everyone pairing off. It's stupid."

Delilah shakes her head, smiling softly.

"It's not," she says. "I mean, I'm almost 33 years old and I've spent plenty of time single. And honestly? I like it. I like being independent and taking care of myself. But there's something really nice about having someone to share your life with." She shrugs, laughing a little self-consciously. "Not that Ian and I are there yet… I just… Oh, you know what I mean."

Annie nods, unable to meet the other woman's eyes.

"You know, you're pretty lucky too," Delilah continues. "I mean, the way Jeff looks at you? He doesn't need to wear his heart on his sleeve because it's right there on his face."

It's silly, but Annie blushes, pleased in a way that's probably not entirely healthy with the idea that there's anything special about the way he looks at her. She's thought it herself sometimes, of course, but it's easy to dismiss as wishful thinking or reading too much into a pretty smile. Coming from a third party, it carries a little more weight – though Delilah believes that they're an actual couple so she's expecting to see affection, tenderness, maybe even passion in his gaze.

It doesn't really mean anything more than Annie seeing it herself.

She takes the lip gloss out of her purse and slicks on a new coat, just to have something to do.

"Oh, that's such a pretty color," Delilah says, and she's grateful for the switch to a much lighter topic.

So they spend a couple of minutes discussing their favorite mascaras and lip liners, and Annie is struck by how much she enjoys the easy, uncomplicated girl talk. She's essentially been avoiding Britta since classes ended and it's like not Britta is all that into girl talk in the first place. Shirley is usually up for a good conversation about lipstick, but lately, Annie's felt kind of guilty talking about something so insignificant and superficial when she's separated from her boys and her marriage is on the rocks again.

For a minute, Annie actually wishes that she wasn't lying to Delilah about her relationship with Jeff so they could discuss the reality of it, analyze his behavior, decide what she should do about it, once and for all.

Of course, she can't do that so she's on her own – as usual.

Back at the table, Jeff's ordered tiramisu for her and she doesn't realize how much she's craving something sweet until she takes a bite. Duncan starts some complicated story about a psychology experiment that he's planning for the fall semester and she absently cuts into the tiramisu with her fork - only for it to clash against Jeff's, who is surreptitiously trying to steal a bite. She grins at him, trying not to laugh, and his answering smile is sheepish for less than a second before he smugly shoves the bite of ladyfingers and custard into his mouth.

She goes back to scooping up her own forkful, and when she looks up at him again, he's watching her, his eyes and smile almost dangerously soft.

It's the kind of look that's a little too easy to read into.

* * *

He has a completely legitimate, innocent reason to show up at her apartment unannounced at nearly nine on a random Wednesday night, but he still hesitates for a minute before knocking on the door.

Just before he left his office, Duncan stopped by to drop off a gift bag full of lip gloss tubes, perfume testers, and other samples from some cosmetics company that Delilah is doing PR work for. She apparently promised the stuff to Annie at dinner the other night and gave them to Duncan to pass along to Jeff.

"You'll see her sooner or later, won't you?" Duncan said, almost tauntingly, as he handed over the bag.

Of course, he'll see her. They've been having lunch a few times a week since the whole fake dating thing broke the ice and sometimes they take a walk around campus in the afternoon when they both need a break - so it would be easy to leave the bag in his office and just give it to her when he sees her tomorrow.

That would be the sensible thing.

But he brought the bag home instead because he remembered that Abed told him just this weekend that he and Rachel would be celebrating their six month anniversary tonight with some theatrical, over-the-top plans that he'd cribbed from at least a half dozen romantic comedies and Jeff only half paid attention to. The only part of the whole thing that really mattered was that Abed would be out nearly all night, leaving Annie alone in the apartment.

There's an opportunity, if he wants it, to seize the moment and do the thing that he should have done weeks, even months, ago.

Outside her door, he checks his breath one more time and smooths his T-shirt over his chest – he tried on four different shirts before settling on this one because he's pretty sure that Annie has a thing for him in blue. He allows himself one more deep breath before he finally raps his knuckles against the plywood.

She opens the door with the chain lock still in place, but even in the sliver of open space, he can see her expression relax into a smile when she realizes that it's him.

"Jeff, hey. What are you doing here?"

She steps aside to let him in, and he tells himself that he isn't nervous, that it would be ridiculous to feel anxious around Annie, who he's known for years.

But she's changed out of the professional button-down blouse and black pants that she was wearing earlier into a simple white tank top and tiny khaki shorts and her hair in a ponytail and her feet are bare (her toes aren't painted the pale pink that they were a couple of weeks ago, he notices immediately. Now, they're a bright sparkly turquoise) and he feels like he's in way over his head. He holds out the gift bag, hoping that he's just imagining the fact that his hand is shaking.

"Delilah gave this to Duncan for you and he asked me to pass it along," he says. "I was on my way home so I thought I'd just drop it by."

She peeks into the bag, smiling when she sees the contents.

"Oh, you shouldn't have to gone out of your way. You could have just given it to me at school tomorrow."

He shrugs.

"I was in the neighborhood."

She nods, though he's not entirely sure that she believes him.

"Can I get you something to drink?" she asks, heading toward the kitchen. "As a thank you. I think we still have some of your fancy imported beer."

He loves the teasing tone in her voice and the smart little smirk that she shoots him, and he feels a little bit of his equilibrium restored. He settles on the futon, listening to the sounds of her opening and closing the refrigerator, then searching through a drawer for a bottle opener. He grins when he sees that she's brought a beer for herself too, and she sits beside him, folding a leg up under her and angling herself toward him before opening his bottle and handing it to him.

"Not too fancy for you?" he asks as she pops the cap off her own beer.

"You love it so much, I figured I should at least give it a try." She stops to take a sip and he watches as she gets her first taste. "It tastes like … beer."

He groans.

"That's because you don't have my sophisticated palette."

She kicks at his sneaker with her bare toes, though she's smiling the entire time. They sip in silence for a moment and he tries to ride the wave of confidence that he's feeling at the moment so he can figure out the best way to start what might be the most important conversation he's ever had in his life. He can feel her sneaking sideways glances at him every so often, so he wonders if she suspects some ulterior motive behind his visit.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" he asks, chickening out.

She shakes her head.

"I just finished my reading for the week before you got here… so I was trying to figure out what to do since I have the apartment to myself. I was leaning toward a bubble bath … but this is nice too."

She's teasing him again and he smirks as he sips from his beer.

"Come on, Annie. We both know I've got it all over bubble baths."

She rolls her eyes, but there's something playful and indulgent about it that triggers that itchy feeling just under his skin. He spots a bouquet of flowers and some crumpled wrapping paper on the dining table then, probably the remnants of Abed and Rachel's anniversary celebration, and he gestures toward it with his beer bottle.

"I've gotta admit," he says. "I really didn't see Abed making it a whole six months with Rachel."

Annie nods solemnly.

"Me either. But it's nice to see him so happy. Especially after Troy leaving and everything."

"It's kind of weird – Duncan's got himself a girlfriend now too. It's like everyone we know is settling down."

"That's two people, Jeff," she scoffs. "Which is hardly everyone." She picks at the corner of the label on her beer. "I mean, you'll never settle down, right?"

He shrugs.

"Depends on what you mean by settle down. If you mean a white picket fence and a minivan, then no. Probably not. But I've started to reconsider some of the other stuff."

She nods slowly, but her lips are twisted in a pretty tight frown.

"Oh, right. Of course. I can't believe I forgot that."

He knows immediately that she's referring to his asking Britta to marry him, which means she still has the wrong idea about all of that - but then, it's his fault that she has the wrong idea about it in the first place.

He's been careless and thoughtless one time too many.

"You're talking about what happened when Subway almost bought Greendale," he says unnecessarily, and Annie looks up at him, her eyes dark and serious. "It is about that, but not in the way you think."

She blinks, her brow creased in confusion. He knows that he's passed the point of no return now – he can't leave here without telling her everything, even if he loses his nerve completely. The look on her face makes it impossible.

"You want to know the truth?" he asks, his voice low and a little shaky.

"What do you—"

"When we were down in Borchert's lab," he says, feeling the words surge out of him in a heated rush. "When we were down there and I needed to get the computer up and running so we could get out, it was you. When I hooked myself up and needed a blast of human passion or whatever, I thought about you."

The apartment is dim, as it always seems to be, but she squints at him, like everything around her is a little too bright.

"I don't understand."

"It's not that complicated, Annie," he tells her, though it doesn't really feel that way. "My feelings for you are strong … and passionate."

For a minute, she is completely silent and hardly moves at all. He almost starts to wonder if she's even breathing anymore because she's still as a statue beside him. But then she turns to look at him and her eyes are blown wide, with just enough glassiness to hint at tears and make him painfully aware of every breath that he takes.

"You were going to marry Britta," she whispers, and her voice has a pained, anxious sound so it seems like it's taking everything in her to get the words out. "You were going to marry her and leave me behind without a second thought."

He winces because yeah, for a couple of hours, that was exactly what he was going to do. But the important thing, he reminds himself, is that he didn't do it and he understands now why it happened in the first place.

"I wasn't thinking clearly," he says. "I wasn't thinking at all, actually. I was running scared because I was about to lose the only place and the only people that have ever really meant anything to me. So I did something really stupid and desperate. And I wish I could take it back."

She shakes her head, but he's not sure if she's disagreeing with his assessment of his actions or just trying to make all the thoughts that are rattling around in her head fit together in a way that makes sense.

For all the times that he's tried to picture how this would go down, he never imagined that he would tell her how he feels and she'd fall into his arms without a second thought – he never imagined it would be easy. But now, faced with her tears and silence, he panics, feeling like he has no idea what else to say, what could possibly make her understand.

So he does something else incredibly stupid and desperate.

He slides closer to her on the futon, reaches out to cup her cheek with fingertips that are still damp from his beer, and kisses her for the first time in years. She is stiff against him at first, but then he feels her sigh into his mouth and her hand curls into the hem of his shirt and he pretends for a minute that everything between them is just that simple.

* * *

A half hour ago, she was planning a bath, trying to decide between her vanilla coconut and lavender and honey bubble baths.

Now, Jeff is practically crushing her to the futon, kissing her so slowly and deeply that she is starting to feel dizzy.

Or maybe it's what he's told her that has her head spinning.

It wasn't Britta or the group or the fact that he'd finally come to terms with the idea that Greendale was his home – it was her, his feelings for her, that jumpstarted Borchert's computer.

Part of her doesn't believe it, and another part of her can't believe that he'd actually admit it, but the biggest part of her is just confused.

Kissing him is easy – he feels good and tastes good and she's wanted to do it off and on for the better part of five years – and doesn't afford much time for thinking, particularly when she feels his fingertips against at her hip, just above the waistband of her shorts where her tank top has ridden up.

But she needs to think - because this isn't just any guy and this isn't just any conversation and she has plenty of questions that require real answers.

So when he moves his mouth down along her jaw and she can catch her breath, she presses a hand to his shoulder and shoves him back just a bit.

"Jeff," she whispers. "What are you doing?"

She can't seem to meet his eyes, and his breathing is heavy and labored as he pushes himself upright. She sits up herself, smoothing her shirt back into place.

"I don't know," he sighs, and she can believe that because when she finally looks at him, he is wild-eyed and dazed, like he might not even know where he is. She is suddenly conscious of every inch of her bare skin, how it seems hot and tight, as if it doesn't quite fit her anymore.

"You were going to marry Britta," she says again, and her voice is so soft and small that she knows she sounds like a little girl.

He runs a hand through his hair, chuckling humorlessly.

"We never would have gone through with it," he declares. "No matter what happened with Greendale. Deep down, I'm pretty sure we both knew that even attempting it would have resulted in some combination of murder-suicide."

He is doing what he always does – trying to lighten the mood, make a joke of the whole thing - but this isn't something she can laugh about.

Not yet anyway.

Because she still remembers how she felt when he announced it, like someone was twisting a knife in her chest, somewhere in the general vicinity of her heart. It wasn't like he'd betrayed her – they weren't a couple, they weren't even in one of those phases where they couldn't help themselves from testing the boundaries of their relationship at the time – but the fact that she didn't even enter his thoughts, that he was already planning a life that she wasn't a part of, broke something inside her.

And she thinks that it might still be broken.

"How long?" she demands. "How long have you felt this way?"

He lifts his shoulders almost helplessly.

"A long time," he sighs. "But I kept ignoring it and denying it because I thought it was better for both of us that way."

"I started to think I was crazy," she hears herself admitting. "That I'd imagined this *thing* between us."

Jeff hangs his head, letting out a shaky breath.

"You haven't imagined anything."

It's her turn to laugh – because none of this makes sense and all of it hurts and she is starting to feel like she's wandered into the middle of some hazy dream or nightmare where she doesn't understand all the rules.

"Then why is this so hard, Jeff? It shouldn't be this hard."

He taps his foot and the tips of his shoe laces tap against the hard wood of the floor in a nervous rhythm.

"It's me," he says. "It's my fault."

"What do you mean?"

"I've been scared." He hesitates, shaking his head. "I *am* scared."

"Of me?" she asks incredulously – the idea is so ridiculous that she makes a hiccupping sound that's part laugh, part sigh.

He shakes his head again, slow and deliberate.

"No. The opposite actually. I'm scared of not having you in my life."

"That doesn't make sense," she cries, almost defiantly. "You were ready to leave Greendale behind. You were ready to leave *me* behind. That doesn't really seem like the actions of someone who's scared to lose me."

His sigh is ragged and hoarse, like it pains him to make the sound, and for a moment, she feels guilty. She plays with a loose thread at the hem of her tank, wrapping it around the tip of her finger until the skin goes ashy and numb.

"That's not… I don't mean then. See, the thing is, I've been pretending I don't have these feelings or that it was just about sex or you just had some stupid crush on me for so long that maybe at times I almost believed it. Because I'm an expert at lying to myself, Annie." He smiles, but it's half-hearted and doesn't reach his eyes. "And there were plenty of reasons to do it, to minimize what we both felt, but really, what it comes down to … You've known me for almost six years, and in all that time, have you ever seen me have anything resembling a functional relationship that lasted longer than five minutes?"

She lowers her head, unraveling the thread from her finger. When the blood flows back to the area, it's almost painful, all prickly pins and needles that somehow work their way up her arm and across her chest.

"And when it doesn't work out," Jeff whispers. "Then I lose you."

He lifts his shoulders, but they immediately slump down in what looks a lot like defeat. His mood has clearly shifted because five minutes before, he trying to kiss her into submission and now he seems ready to let go. She finds herself shaking her head, as much in protest of his body language as what he's said.

"We're friends first, Jeff," she insists. "Always."

He turns to look at her, and his smile is the soft, tender variety that always makes her breath catch just a bit. She doesn't know why she's trying to convince him or even what she's trying to convince him of – not when she still needs plenty of convincing herself.

"That's what people say, Annie. But when it hurts and things get awkward, it's easier just to let go."

Her vision gets a little blurry and she knows that tears are threatening again, so she tips her head back to try to keep them from falling.

"You and Britta manage just fine."

She hates herself as soon as the words leave her mouth because they sound snide and petty, and she really doesn't want to make this about Britta. But the point needs clarification – or more precisely, she *wants* clarification.

"That's different," he says, almost dismissively.

"I don't see how! You were going to marry her, Jeff, and now it's like it never even happened."

"That's the whole reason we could even think about doing it. Because we both knew it was safe. We care about each other but not enough that we could really hurt each other." He pauses, and when he looks at her, his expression is so gentle that she sighs almost despite herself. "But you and I, Annie… we could do serious damage to each other."

She shakes her head stubbornly.

"Why would we? The last thing I'd ever want to do is hurt you. And I'm pretty sure you feel the same."

He looks away, trying not to smile as he studies his lap – it's a look that she's seen from him before, one that seems to say "aren't you just too precious?" and strikes her as more than a little condescending.

"Nobody sets out to do it," he says. "But relationships are hard and it happens even when you don't want it to. I think we both know that."

There's no way to argue with him, of course, because he's right and suddenly the entire conversation seems like nothing but a waste of time. She is exhausted, all the way through to the bone.

"So why tell me then?" she demands. "Why bring all this up if you think it's hopeless?"

He exhales slowly, and the sound is loud as a gunshot in her quiet apartment.

"I don't think… it's not…" He scrubs a hand over his face. "I don't know," he finally says. "I just thought you should know. I thought you'd want to know."

She nods because sure, some part of her is happy just with the knowledge, the idea that she's never been alone in what she feels for him - but the rest of her knows that it's not enough.

"And that's it?"

He bobs his head slowly.

"Then I think you should leave," she says, proud of how steady and even her voice is.

He lets out a deep breath and looks at her with something resembling urgency. She braces herself, because maybe he is still going to try to convince her, maybe he is going to try to explain to her some crazy way that it can all work, maybe he isn't going to walk away that easy.

"Annie, I…" He shifts slightly on the futon, so his knee is pressed hard against hers, and she closes her eyes, trying to prepare herself. "You're probably right."

She opens her eyes just as he heaves himself off the sofa, stumbling toward the door like he's drunk. She can't seem to move for a minute, so she stays where she is until he's gone and then she numbly grabs their half-empty beers from the floor and takes them to the kitchen to dump the remains down the sink. She heaves the empty bottles into the recycling bucket, getting some satisfaction out of the fact that one shatters as it whacks against the side of the container.

She isn't sure if she's devastated or relieved, angry or heartbroken.

In the bathroom, she washes the smudges of mascara and eyeliner from beneath her eyes, somehow avoiding her reflection in the mirror the entire time. She's still awake sometime near two, when she hears Abed and Rachel come home, laughing softly in the otherwise silent apartment.

* * *

He takes a chance that Britta's working and stops by the bar on his way home.

Since it's barely ten on a Wednesday night, the place is mostly empty, and he spots her right away, wiping down the bar top with a rag. She looks up in surprise when he collapses on the stool directly in front of her, and he wonders for a moment if he looks as turned inside out as he feels.

"Hey," she says, smiling. "What are you doing here?"

"I was hoping for some single malt scotch. This place is a dump, but I figured you could probably scrounge up a glass."

She tilts her head, eyeing him a little suspiciously, but nods.

"Sure."

He watches as she reaches for a clean glass from beneath the bar, sets it in front of him, and grabs a bottle from the shelves behind her. She fills his glass halfway and then adds a couple of drops of water before sliding it toward him. He knows that the effort is going to be wasted on him because he probably won't take more than a sip.

"There are lots of bars in Greendale," Britta says, as he tilts the glass on its edge. "At least three that are within walking distance of your apartment. So why would you come here? You hate this place."

He nods, not looking her in the eyes – he's not entirely sure what she'd see there; he's felt rubbed raw ever since he left Annie's place.

"I need to talk to you about something."

She must sense something from the way he's hanging his head and studying the contents of his glass because she sighs, sounding just a little too dramatic for his tastes.

"Jeff," she practically groans. "If this is about the whole stupid marriage thing, there's no need. Really. You don't need a psych degree to know we were scared out of our freaking minds, which prompted us to do something really, really stupid. End of story."

He nods absently and swirls the scotch around in his glass.

"Yeah, I know. That's not what…"

When he risks a look at her, Britta's eyes are wide, almost eager, and he knows that she's imagining that he's about to unburden himself about some psychologically juicy topic like his father's abandonment or some Oedipal thing with his mom or how getting cut from the JV basketball team in his sophomore year shaped his formative years. The topic at hand is certainly fraught with emotional and psychological landmines, but not in the clinical, textbook way that she would probably like.

He is starting to wonder how he could have possibly thought this was a good idea.

But he's here and he has to do something.

"It's Annie," he says finally, trying to ignore the way his voice catches around her name.

Britta furrows her brow, clearly caught off-guard.

"What about her? Is something wrong? When I saw her last week… or the week before, whenever, she seemed fine. Happy even."

Jeff shakes his head, scratching his thumb against the side of his glass.

"No. It's not…" He lets out a deep breath and lifts his shoulders tiredly. "It *was* Annie. When the door opened down in Borchert's lab, it was because of how I feel about her."

It was almost four months ago now, but the moment has a sharp clarity that still makes it feel as fresh as if it happened yesterday. Apparently, it's not the same for Britta – she squints at him, head cocked, like he's speaking a foreign language and she is trying desperately to translate the words into something that she can understand.

He sees the second that it happens, though, because her eyes widen and her jaw goes a little slack.

"Oh," she says. "Oh, that's…" She shakes her head. "I've always known there was something between you guys. I just didn't realize that it…"

He shrugs because he really doesn't want to get into the specifics of it. He can barely wrap his own mind around the reality of his feelings; he's not really equipped to help anyone else understand them. Britta twists the bar rag in her hands and lets it unravel almost absently, so it thwacks against the counter with authority.

"Did you come here to get my blessing or something?" she asks, her voice strangely flat so he can't really read her tone. "Because I don't think…"

She looks down at the bar and he finds himself doing the same, toying with the cardboard coaster under his glass.

"I came," he enunciates carefully, trying to build up the nerve to tell her the truth. "Because I thought you'd tell me to back off, for whatever reason, and that would be my excuse for not doing anything about it."

"Jeff," she sighs sadly. "You can't ask me to be the reason you don't do something. You can't put me in the middle like that. It's not fair … to me or to Annie."

It's not something that he needs to be told, but he feels properly chastised all the same. He is a fucking asshole and maybe that's reason enough not to do anything. But then, if he was never going to do anything about the way he feels, why did he bother telling Annie in the first place?

Now, he's ruined everything without even doing a damned thing.

Jesus Christ, he is a douchebag.

"I've fucked everything up," he groans. "Because I'm a Goddamn coward. Because I'm always looking for the easy way out. Because I'm always ready to give up."

Britta twists her mouth in frown that is somehow equal parts stern and sympathetic.

"See, that's the thing, Jeff. You can't do this on a whim. You have to be sure about it… because this is Annie we're talking about."

She doesn't mean it in a condescending way; it isn't a reference to Annie's age or maturity - Britta is referring to the simple fact that Annie is part of their rag-tag, makeshift little family and he can't be careless with her. They've already lost Pierce and Troy is halfway around the world; they can't afford any more defections.

"You know what I'm sure about?" he says, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. "I need to get home."

He throws some money down on the bar for his untouched drink and stands.

"You sure you don't want to talk about this? Maybe it would help to—"

He doesn't listen to the rest of it, sparing her a half-hearted wave as he heads for the door. He feels incredibly tired all of a sudden and drives home almost on auto-pilot. At his apartment, he falls into bed without even turning on the lights, without even taking off his clothes.

He hardly sleeps.

* * *

On Thursday, Annie is pretty much a zombie.

She goes to class, takes copious notes, even answers a few questions, but she's in a fog for all of it. Afterward, she heads to work, back to scanning stacks upon stacks of files without really seeing a single word of them. At home, Abed notices that she isn't quite herself but she blames it on her allergies and the antihistamines that she's taken for them. For once, he takes her at her word, though she suspects that's due mostly to the fact that he's a hurry to meet Rachel for a movie and not because her acting is all that convincing. When he's gone, she eats microwave popcorn for dinner and watches a few episodes of 'Luther' on Netflix, though when she turns the TV off, she realizes that she can't remember anything that happened in any of them.

The real problem is that she has no idea how to shake herself out of her mood. It seems impossibly cruel to get the one thing that she's wanted for years – the knowledge that Jeff feels the same way about her that she does for him – and still have it mean absolutely nothing. But as easy as it is to blame him, she knows that she has her own reservations, her own doubts about whether their feelings necessarily mean that they should actually be together.

She's protecting herself, of course, simply because there's a part of her that doesn't really trust his feelings – he was going to marry Britta and changed his mind about that in a hurry. What's to stop him from changing his mind about her?

After a decent night's sleep, though, she feels a little better. On Friday morning, the Dean has errands for her to run off campus and she's grateful for the distraction and change of scenery. Even more, she's glad that she doesn't have to actively avoid Jeff or face the fact that he's actively avoiding her.

But when she gets back to the office in early afternoon and finds the Dean crying under his desk with a bottle of tequila clutched in his hand, she almost thinks that having to face Jeff would be preferable.

He's sobbing breathlessly and hiccupping out his words, so it's difficult to understand what he's so upset about at first. Annie sits on the floor opposite him, urging him to take deep breaths until she's finally able to piece together that his sister just called and she's getting married again - for the third time.

Annie frowns, unsure why such seemingly happy news would send him off the deep end. She wonders if maybe he's worried about his sister getting her heart broken again, so she's all prepared to hit him with the whole clichéd 'The third time's a charm' bit – until he is racked by a fresh set of tears.

"She'll be married three times, Annie!" he cries. "Three! I've never even been asked once – and I'm almost 44 years old, for God's sake."

She sighs because really, it's easy to sympathize with him. She pats his hand, making consoling noises, but he even doesn't seem to register the touch, gulping from the tequila bottle in the little cave of space beneath his desk.

"I'm going to die all alone," he whispers. "And my cat will probably eat my face before anyone finds me…"

He passes her the tequila bottle almost thoughtlessly, because clearly he wants someone to commiserate with, and though she shouldn't indulge during the work day, she takes a sip, wincing as it burns its way down her throat.

She's had a crappy couple of days too - she deserves it.

"You have plenty of friends who would notice that you were gone," she tells him, handing the bottle back. "And none of us are married so… well, technically, Shirley is, but…"

She is seriously off her cheering up game today, and the Dean only slouches down further against the inside of his desk, looking even smaller and sadder than when she came in.

"Friends aren't the same thing," he huffs.

"No," she agrees. "They aren't. But I just meant that you're not the only person who doesn't have someone. There are plenty people around you who know how you're feeling. I mean, I'm not exactly beating the guys away with a stick or anything and I'm just—"

"Oh, who are you trying to kid, Annie?" The Dean frowns, clutching the tequila bottle against his heart. "You've got Jeff Winger, as fine a specimen of the male species that one could ever hope to find, head over heels in love with you. How exactly would you know how I feel?"

Her face suddenly feels warm, like it's gone up in flames, and she knows that she hasn't drunk enough tequila to blame it on the alcohol. The Dean takes another swig from the bottle, but his eyes are still narrowed in her direction pointedly, as if she's personally done something to wound him.

"I don't think you really understand my relationship with Jeff," she hedges, not wanting to open this can of worms right now. "We aren't …"

She doesn't know how to finish the thought – or just doesn't want to.

They just aren't, she thinks. That's as close to the truth as she can get at the moment.

But the Dean isn't buying it apparently. He heaves out a disbelieving sigh and waves his hand dismissively.

"He loves you so much that he got us out of that basement and saved Greendale. Who needs diamond rings and flowers and all that crap when you have that kind of grand gesture?"

Her heart pounds so hard in her chest that she swears that she can hear it, roaring in her ears like a snare drum.

"How do you know about that?"

"Oh, he pretty much admitted it to me," the Dean declares. "We had a little misunderstanding about the whole thing… you know, what it was he felt so passionately about… and he just let it slip. I shouldn't have even needed him to tell me, though – of course, it's you. Only wishful thinking could make anything else seem remotely plausible."

She finds herself trying to imagine the scene, Jeff accidentally blurting out how he feels to one of the last people on earth that he'd probably trust with that kind of information – maybe that's what prompted him to tell her. Maybe he was afraid that the Dean would let it slip and he wanted to control the way she found out.

Why else would he tell her if he wasn't ready to follow through?

"And you two will probably get married and have these amazing blue-eyed children with perfect bone structure and amazing hair who'll win beauty pageants and debate contests, and I'll be all alone in my condo, eating Stouffer's lasagna and watching 'Golden Girls' reruns."

She laughs, unable to stop herself, and it's the deep, breathless kind of laughter that makes her eyes water. But as she reaches up to wipe at them, she realizes that she's actually crying, hard, hot tears that she can't seem to stop. She feels absolutely ridiculous and lowers her head so the Dean won't see.

But he's not quite as oblivious as she'd like and he scoots forward on the carpet, patting her knee clumsily.

"Oh, Annie. Stop," he says gently. "This is my pity party. You can't cry too."

Stubbornly, she shakes her head, as if that will put an end to the tears.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to … it's just all such a mess."

On his hands and knees, the Dean crawls out from beneath his desk and sits beside her against the back wall of his office.

"He's not an easy man to love, is he?" the Dean says sagely, and Annie finds herself laughing again despite the tears.

Maybe the Dean is really the only one who understands.

So when he passes her the tequila again, she takes a big sip, letting it warm every inch of her skin.

Which is how they wind up drunk enough on the worn carpeting of his office that they have to call Abed to come and play designated driver. Of course, he wants to know what happened, why they decided to get blitzed in the middle of the day, but the Dean starts in with his sob story about his sister and that distracts Abed enough to stop him from asking the kinds of questions that would make her uncomfortable.

At home, there's still some sunlight streaming through her window when she crawls into bed, but she is so exhausted that she falls asleep almost immediately. She doesn't wake until eight the next morning.


	4. Chapter 4

He isn't feeling particularly sociable, but when Abed texts and suggests a 'Die Hard' marathon on Saturday night, he thinks that watching some movies in silence with a friend is probably preferable to sitting alone in his apartment.

Of course, he hasn't seen Annie since Wednesday - it's not like he was trying to avoid her at school or anything. He just happened to get caught up in a game of Fruit Ninja on Thursday and couldn't get to the cafeteria between 12:30 and 1:30 when she usually eats lunch and on Friday, he had quizzes to grade so he left campus right after his class to tackle them in the peace and quiet of his apartment – and the possibility of an awkward run-in with her is probably reason enough to say no to Abed.

But then Abed probably knows everything that went down Wednesday night – even if Annie didn't offer it up freely, he has that uncanny sixth sense that allows him to read his friend's mind and moods like a damn psychic – and he wouldn't invite Jeff over if she was going to be around.

Actually, the very fact that Abed wants to hang out suggests that he knows the whole story – they don't socialize alone all that much, and even after Jeff made an effort and asked him to go watch a baseball game, Abed didn't seem all that interested in repeating the outing. The timing of this invitation suggests that he thinks Jeff needs some cheering up or at least a decent distraction.

Or maybe, even more likely, Abed just wants to get all the painful details of what happened from Jeff's point of view in the name of research. Jeff is taking a definite chance, though, which is really a testament to just how sick he is of staring at the same four walls in his apartment.

The first real sign that he's made a terrible mistake is that Rachel opens the door to the apartment when he knocks.

"Oh, good, you're here," she says, standing aside to let him enter. "Abed was starting to think you'd changed your mind."

He hears Abed muttering in the kitchen then - "You're not putting enough in. It's going to stick to the sides of the bowl and the popcorn won't have any. You need at least another two tablespoons. Maybe even three."

And then he hears Annie.

"That's ridiculous, Abed! I've already put in five and this bowl isn't that big. It's going to get all gross and clumpy if I add any more."

"They're making cheese popcorn," Rachel tells Jeff, lowering her voice confidentially. "And they don't exactly see eye to eye on the recipe."

He fakes a smile, which quickly turns into a frown when he sees that she's shut the door behind him and he can't just turn and run out like a scared little kid. She heads toward the kitchen pass-through and he hesitates for a second, trying to decide exactly what he should do.

"Hey, guys," Rachel calls into the kitchen before he can figure anything out. "Jeff's here."

So he follows after her numbly, clearing having no choice in the matter. The whiplash-fast way that Annie turns to look at him answers the burning question that he has – she clearly didn't know he would be coming tonight.

At least he's not the only one who's been blindsided.

"Don't worry, Jeff," Abed says amiably. "There's plain popcorn for you."

He nods absently, but as soon as his eyes lock with Annie's, he goes completely still.

"Abed," she says, in a low, serious voice that says she means business. "What's going on?"

Abed turns to her, head cocked in confusion.

"What do you mean? The cheese powder thing? I just know from experience with Troy that –"

"No. Not that. What's… you didn't tell me you invited people over. I thought it was just going to be you, me and—"

"I didn't invite people over. I invited Jeff."

Annie looks over at Jeff again, and he offers a wry smile.

"Okay," she says slowly. "But you didn't tell me that—"

"Rachel and I spend a lot of time alone together and we probably have more fun with each other than we ever could with anyone else…" Abed looks to his girlfriend for confirmation and she nods briskly. "But we thought it would probably be a good idea to do some things with other couples, if only because there's always at least one scene with a double date in every romantic comedy ever made and we'd hate to miss out on part of the experience. Even if it seems a little unnecessary."

Annie sets the measuring spoons in her hands down on the counter and reaches for a dish towel to wipe up the mess of powder. Jeff can tell that she's trying hard not to overreact, but she's obviously upset.

"Okay. Fine. But why would you ask Jeff and I? We're not—"

"Isn't that what you guys do now?" Abed asks. "You've been going out with Duncan and his girlfriend for weeks now, right?"

"How do you know about that?" Jeff asks, trying to play it cool.

"Britta told me."

"Then she probably told you we were just pretending as a favor to Duncan," Annie says. "So…"

Abed cocks his head, looking thoroughly unconvinced.

"Annie, please. Like I don't know exactly how that whole pretending-to-be-a-couple trope plays out. Every. Single. Time."

"Abed," Jeff sighs. "I don't think that—"

"Besides, we're all friends, right?" Abed prods. "So can't we just sit down and watch some of the best action movies of all time. Well, the first two anyway. The others leave a little something to be desired."

"Is *that* what we're watching?"

There's a slight whine to Annie's voice that makes Jeff laugh. She looks at him sharply, and for a moment, it seems like she's convinced that he's laughing *at* her. When she realizes that he's laughing at them, at the entire situation, her gaze softens and she actually smiles.

Still, when they sit down to start to the first movie, she puts an empty chair between them, under the guise of having a place to put the popcorn bowl and their glasses, and it seems like she might as well be on the other side of the room.

He knows that it's his fault, but it doesn't make it any easier to take.

* * *

In the break between the second and third movie, Jeff finds her in the kitchen.

She's making a fresh batch of popcorn while Abed cues up 'Die Hard with a Vengeance' and Rachel is in the bathroom. Jeff dumps his empty beer bottle in the recycling bucket, sending it rattling to the bottom, and she looks up in surprise.

"Sorry," he says, holding up his hands almost in surrender.

She shrugs, closing the door on the microwave and hitting the 'Start' button. She isn't entirely sure whether she hopes that he'll leave or stay, and she hates herself for the indecision. She is still feeling the lingering effects of a headache and dehydration from yesterday's booze fest with the Dean, and part of her can't help blaming Jeff for it, even if it is completely irrational.

"I'm really sorry," he says, almost as if he's read her mind. "I didn't think you were going to be here when Abed invited me and I…"

He shakes his head and studies the cracked linoleum under his feet.

"He ambushed both of us," she declares. "And he can pretend all he wants that he didn't know what he was doing, but I think he planned the whole thing."

Jeff nods.

"For someone who's always saying that you got to let the story unfold by itself, he does like to pull the strings a lot."

She nods back at him, and for a long, aching moment, they just stand there in the silent kitchen, watching one another. She has no idea what to say to him, what she even wants to say, so she counts the pops that she hears from the microwave to distract herself. Is this how it's going to be between them from now on, she wonders. Awkward and difficult and uncomfortable?

"I'm sorry," Jeff says again, and he takes a step toward her in the small space. "I want to fix this, but I don't know how."

She takes a deep breath, knowing that she wants the very same thing. It feels impossibly complicated at the moment, like a puzzle with a million pieces that are all the same color, but then maybe that's their fault. Maybe they're always making things more difficult than it has to be. Maybe they just need to strip this thing down to the basics.

"You meant what you said the other night," she says finally. "About how you feel."

She isn't asking – she is simply stating the facts – but he nods anyway.

"And I'm sure about how I feel," she continues. "And I know that's not some kind of magic wand that fixes everything or makes it all easy, but isn't that a place to—"

"How's the popcorn coming?"

Abed stands in the doorway to the kitchen with an expectant look and the TV remote in his hand. If he realizes that he's interrupted a pretty serious, important moment, he doesn't let on – and the universe seems to be against them too because the microwave pings to signal that the popcorn is done. Jeff shoots her an apologetic smile and follows Abed into the other room. She splits the popcorn between two bowls and carries them to the TV.

They sit and watch the second movie, but the entire time, she is just waiting to finish their conversation, trying to figure out what else she needs to say. But when Rachel declares that she's too tired to finish the movie about halfway through and Annie expects Jeff to linger a bit until Abed and Rachel head to bed, he moves toward the door, mumbling something about being tired himself. He smiles at her just before he leaves, but it only seems sad and hopeless.

She busies herself washing the glasses and bowls in the kitchen, refusing to cry. Abed comes in for a bottle of water just before she finishes.

"You okay?" he asks.

"I'm just really, really tired."

She pats his arm absently as she heads for her bedroom.

"These things always work out, you know," he calls after her. "Even when you're absolutely sure they won't."

She stops, but doesn't bother to turn and look at him.

"This isn't a movie or a TV show, Abed."

"Exactly," he says. "So you don't have writers who are trying to stretch things out or add unnecessary drama to mess things up. You just have two people who have way too much invested to let it all fall apart."

She glances at him over her shoulder.

"You really believe that?"

"I do."

He means it, because Abed is incapable of being insincere about things like this, but she is too used to things falling apart to have much faith. She nods anyway, though, so he won't worry.

* * *

For as long as he can remember, he's hated Mondays.

Even back when he was a high-powered lawyer, eating up opposing counsel for breakfast, sweet talking juries, and living the high life, he always dragged a little bit more on Monday mornings.

On this particular Monday, after a weekend of little sleep and a few too many punishing sessions at the gym, he feels particularly worn out and wishes that he'd had enough forethought to fabricate some type of illness that would allow him to cancel his classes and stay in bed for most of the morning.

Instead, he sits at his desk glumly, having barely made it through his first class and still needing to kill an hour and half before his next one. He could leave now, he thinks. Post a note cancelling his one o'clock class and head home before anyone even knows he's gone.

Of course, then he'll be alone in his apartment once again and yeah, he could try to sleep but he hasn't had much luck with that lately, which means he'll inevitably head back at the gym where he'll probably wind up straining a muscle or two before he actually collapses from outright exhaustion.

He would blame Annie for all of this, and he's even tried it a few times, but it's half-hearted at best because he knows that it's entirely his fault – he was afraid of his feelings for her for years, pushing them down so deep that sometimes he actually managed to forget about them completely, and then when he's finally forced to acknowledge the fact that what he feels for is the kind of real, powerful thing that isn't just going to go away, he's still too much of a coward to do anything about it.

Except throw them in Annie's face and slink away like a scared, little kid.

The worst part is that he knows that he's going to lose her if he keeps this up, just like he's been so afraid of, but he can't seem to stop himself.

Which is why he's browsing the Barneys website on his phone instead of finding Annie and actually talking to her.

She even gave him an opening Saturday night, put herself out there once again, and he left without returning the favor.

He is officially an asshole.

And he is seriously considering buying a $420 alligator belt to drown his sorrows when there's a knock on his office door and Abed pokes his head in before Jeff can even ask who it is.

"You busy?" he asks. "You don't look busy, so I'm going to assume that's a no."

"Actually," Jeff says, pushing himself up in his chair. "I've got class in a little—"

"This won't take long."

Abed steps into the office, closing the door behind him, and Jeff immediately gets the sense that he isn't going to like this very much.

"It's about Annie," his friend declares, as if to confirm the fact right off the bat.

"Abed, I know your heart is the right place but this isn't something that—"

"I'm not gonna pretend I know all the specifics and you were just gonna marry Britta like four months ago so it's all kind of nuts, but I have a pretty good idea of how you feel about Annie. And I know how she feels about you."

He is sick and fucking tired of everyone thinking that they know his business or his and Annie's business – or maybe he's just embarrassed that it's so blatantly obvious to everyone and their Goddamn mother.

"Abed, can you just cut to the chase?"

"I'm just wondering what you plan to do about it," he says. "You're making her miserable and I don't like it." He shrugs. "Because she's one of my best friends and I want her to be happy, of course, but also because I live with her and it's not a lot of fun when she's like this. I mean, she forgot the Fruit Loops and Strawberry Quik when she went grocery shopping yesterday. It totally ruined my morning."

Jeff laughs despite himself.

"I feel for you, Abed, but I can't just magically figure out something that's pretty complicated to make sure that you enjoy your breakfast."

"Is it really that complicated? You love her, she loves you… so get it together."

"If it were that easy, don't you think I would have done it by now?"

Abed just stares at him blankly, and he tries not to take offense.

"I don't know how to do a real relationship, Abed. I've tried with women I cared a lot less about than Annie and it never worked out. How I am supposed to make it work with her?"

Abed cocks his head, looking lost in thought, and Jeff is a little afraid of what might be going on in his very special mind.

"So really your hesitance is actually just proof of how much you care about her… that's interesting." His eyes narrow and Jeff can practically see him jotting down notes in his head for a future screenplay. "But I still don't really get it. It's going to be hard so your answer is just to give up? Not try?"

"I'm trying to protect her," Jeff grits out.

"I don't think she needs anyone to protect her, though. I mean, when you decided to marry Britta, she was willing to trust that you knew what you wanted – and anyone with half a brain could tell what a terrible idea that was. If Annie's decided that you're what she wants, don't you think you should trust her?"

"Abed, it's not just-

"This is probably what she's afraid of, you know. That you're not sure about her. That you don't care enough to really work at it. And all you're really doing right now is proving her right."

Jeff throws his hands up in exasperation.

"So what the hell am I supposed to do then?"

Abed shrugs again, and turns for the door.

"I don't really know," he says. "And I wouldn't tell you even if I did. You need to do this on your own."

"So you came down here to tell me to do something but you're not actually going to tell me what to do?"

"You're a smart guy, Jeff. You can figure this out." He offers up a tight smile. "You've got some strong incentive, right?"

This is how low he's sunk, Jeff thinks once he's alone again. He's getting advice about his love life from Abed.

And even worse, Abed is right.

* * *

She is tired of being in a funk so when she gets home from work, she decides that she's going to take herself out to dinner.

Nothing fancy – maybe just a burger and fries at the diner around the corner, but she'll get out of the apartment, out in the world, and maybe that will be enough to improve her mood.

Of course, she wouldn't be her usual diligent self if she didn't insist on doing the reading for her Criminal Procedure class before she goes out, so she puts in a couple of hours at her desk first and then changes out of the sedate sleeveless blouse, trousers and pumps that she wore to work and into a colorful floral print sundress and purple flip flops that she probably hasn't worn in over a year. It's silly, but she feels better already, just looking at her reflection in the mirror.

Abed still isn't home when she's getting ready to leave, so he must have own dinner plans and can fend for himself. Just as she grabs her bag from the table, though, there's a knock at the door - well, not a knock exactly. It's actually more of a thud, like someone's collapsed against the flimsy plywood before even managing to knock. Not for the first time, she curses the fact that she hasn't reminded their landlord that she wants a peephole installed and wonders if she should just ignore it.

But there's another softer knock then and she leans a little closer to the door, straining to hear any other noise from the other side.

It doesn't take long until she does.

"Annie? It's me."

The sound of Jeff's voice freezes her for a moment, and she isn't sure what to do. Knowing it's him on the other side of the door is probably even more reason to just ignore the knocking, but she doesn't really have it in her to leave him out there in the hallway.

Or maybe it's just a morbid sense of curiosity that makes answering it seem like a good idea – what the hell could Jeff Winger possibly want from her now?

When she opens the door, he looks absolutely disheveled – his hair is a mess, not in his usual, carefully arranged way but because it looks like he's run his hands through it one time too many, and his eyes are droopy, like he's having trouble keeping them open. His shirt is wrinkled too, and one of his shoe laces is nearly untied.

He is, to put it bluntly, a mess.

"I'm drunk," he declares, slumped against the door frame, and he sounds so gleeful that it's almost as if he thinks that's cause for celebration.

She looks into the hallway behind him as she ushers him inside to see if anyone is with him, but he's alone.

"Did you drive here?"

"No," he huffs, draping an arm around her shoulders for support. "'Course not. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not suicidal."

"Jeff…"

"But I'm not here to talk about that."

He shifts away from her, straightening up as best he can so he can look her straight in the eye. It seems like he's gearing up to tell her something important, but he's totally plastered so she isn't sure exactly how seriously she should take whatever it is that he's about to say. He clears his throat and raises a finger, demanding her attention.

"See the stone set in your eyes, see the thorn twist in your side, I wait for you…"

She squints, listening as carefully as she can, but apparently he's just talking gibberish and she's really going to have to work to figure out what it is that he wants.

"Sleight of hand and twist of fate, on a bed of nails she makes me wait, and I wait without you," he slurs, and she realizes then that he's singing - or trying to anyway - and the words finally start to make sense, and for a moment, she is completely torn between laughing and crying. "With or without you, with or without you, I can't live…"

"Jeff," she whispers. "What are you doing?"

"Serenading you," he says simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Lemme finish… My hands are tied, my body bruised, she's got me with nothing to win and nothing left to lose…"

He collapses against the wall, like he's finally run out of steam, and takes a deep, almost wheezy breath.

"I think I skipped a bunch in the middle. But it's hard to remember all of it. Especially when you're this drunk."

She laughs, because everything about this scene is absurd and unexpected and lovely, and she isn't sure how else to react. He starts to lose his footing, slipping further down the wall, so it seems like getting him off his feet should be her first priority. She corrals him toward her bedroom where he pretty much belly-flops onto her bed, the mattress undulating beneath him like waves. She worries for a minute that he's going to throw up, but he settles down enough that it seems safe to run to the kitchen for a bottle of water and the bathroom for some Advil.

It helps to focus on taking care of Jeff, on these stupid little tasks to help prevent a hangover, because otherwise, she isn't sure that she would be able to deal with what's really happening, what it means that he's come to her like this.

Back in the bedroom, he's managed to roll onto his back and throw an arm over his face. He barely notices when she starts untying his sneakers and slips them off because he's still mumbling to himself.

"And you give yourself away," he croons. "And you give and you give and you give yourself away. I can't live… with or without you…"

She smiles, reaching behind him to prop a pillow up against the headboard.

"Okay, Bono, sit up for a second and drink some water."

It takes a minute and a couple of elbows to her stomach and ribs, but she's finally able to get him upright enough to take a couple of Advil and drain more than half the bottle of water. He slouches back against the pillows when he's done, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. When he gazes up at her then with a soft smile, she knows that it's not wishful thinking to interpret his look as anything less than adoring.

"Did it work? Are you swooning?" He cocks his head and squints in her general direction. "I can't tell because right now you're all blurry."

She smiles, taking the water bottle back from him.

"I'm swooning a little," she admits. "But I think you should sleep now."

Her bedroom doesn't have an air conditioner and it can sometimes get a little stuffy, so she turns on the floor fan opposite her bed to make sure that he's comfortable. She doesn't bother to help him under the sheets – she figures he can do that if he wants later - but she does turn off her bedside lamp so the room is dim and cool enough for him to sleep off what promises to be a hell of a hangover.

"You too," Jeff whispers as she passes the bed on her way to the door.

He curls his hand around her wrist and gently tugs her toward the bed. She doesn't resist exactly, but she isn't sure sleeping with him is a good idea so she hesitates just a bit and winds up stumbling, her knee hitting the mattress just beside his waist. In the shadows, she has to strain to see his face but she can still tell that everything about his expression is vulnerable. So she edges her way carefully onto the mattress next him and he slides over a little to make room for her. He is still on his back, but she curls up on her side and he pulls her arm up over his chest, clumsily pressing his lips to the inside of her wrist. The touch is so light, but she shivers all the same.

"You smell really good," he says, his nose rubbing back and forth against the skin. "Like the beach."

"I think that's just my sunscreen."

He nods on the pillow opposite hers, and she tries to act like this isn't a big deal, that she lays beside him in the dark all the time. His hand is still loosely grasping her wrist and it feels intimate in a way that both terrifies and thrills her.

"So it's a done deal," he says, his voice low and gravel-y. "That I love you, I mean. You get that, right?"

"Jeff, I don't think we should-"

"I'm not saying it because I'm drunk," he insists. "Well, I did get drunk so I could do the whole singing thing but my being drunk isn't why I'm sayin' it. Because let's just face facts here – I love you so much that it fucking saved Greendale. Think about that for a minute, Annie."

She does, and it seems wonderful and absurd and over the top and perfectly normal, considering it's Greendale.

"And if I love you that much and you think that this, the two of us together, is a good idea, I can't really argue anymore. Cause you're a lot smarter than I am. Well, about stuff like this anyway. And school stuff and -"

She throws her hand over his mouth, laughing.

"I get it. I get it."

He nods again, but his fingers slide along her arm, from the back of her hand to the sensitive crook of her elbow, and her giggles die in a hurry.

"But you have to promise me something," he whispers, so seriously and adamantly that it's easy to forget he's drunk for a moment. "You'll always be my friend. No matter what happens. No matter what I do to screw up. Always. Promise?"

She feels tears pushing their way to her lashes, so she closes her eyes.

"I promise," she whispers back. "But you have to promise the same."

"I do."

He slides his fingers through hers and sets their joined hands on the pillow beside his head. Even with her eyes closed, she knows when he falls asleep because his breathing evens out and he starts to snore softly. She is wide awake, though, and when she manages to snag her cell phone from her nightstand, she realizes that it's probably because it's not even nine o'clock yet.

But she stays in bed, counting his breaths instead of sheep and holding his hand until she finally falls sleep.

* * *

When he wakes, his first and only thought is that he needs to piss like a damn race horse.

With his bladder demanding most of his attention, he isn't sure where he is for a minute - but then he smells the familiar vanilla and coconut scent that usually means Annie is nearby and he remembers the night before with total recall.

If he's honest with himself, he's kind of embarrassed about the whole thing in the cool light of day – he fishes his phone out of his back pocket and sees that it's just after 5 so it's barely even day – but he did wind up spending the night with her in her bed so it's hard not to think that it was worth it.

Annie is tiny, but when she sleeps, she somehow makes herself even smaller, curling into a ball that barely takes up any space on the mattress. He must really love her because he finds this fact fascinating – and kind of cute. Of course, she's sleeping on top of the sheets so he's also fascinated with the way her dress has ridden up on her creamy white thighs.

And while he needs water or coffee or hell, even a little hair of the dog, and a trip to the bathroom, and some Tylenol, he knows that he has to stay put because if she wakes up and he's not here with her, it'll send the wrong message completely.

Even if he's only as far away as her bathroom or kitchen.

So he waits, with his dull headache and dry mouth and angry bladder, and watches her sleep like some kind of creepy stalker – but it's not really his fault; there isn't anything else to do. He distracts himself by trying to figure out what he'll say to her when she wakes up, if he left anything important out last night, but that kind of makes him anxious because he usually works best when he makes it up as he goes. Usually, it's because he thrives under pressure. In this case, though, he thinks that it will be more authentic, speaking from the heart and all that.

Jesus, he's totally overthinking this.

That's what she does to him, he thinks. Makes him lose his damn mind.

She stirs then, eyelids fluttering and her hand moving out from beneath the pillow. She groans as stretches her arms over her head, uncoiling her body from the tight, little knot that she slept in. He catches a glimpse of the blue lace of her panties and forces himself to look away because this isn't about that right now. She blinks a couple of times as she focuses on him, but she doesn't seem fazed in the least to find him in her bed.

"Hi," she says, sounding just a little shy.

"Morning."

She smiles, sliding a little closer to him.

"How do you feel?"

"Like shit," he says. "Which is what I get for drinking half a bottle of scotch on an empty stomach."

She nods against her pillow and a dark tangle of hair falls across her cheek. He reaches out to brush it back behind her ear, his fingertips tracing along her jaw as he draws his hand back. When she looks up at him from beneath the heavy fringe of her lashes, he knows that he is a goner.

"What do you remember about last night?" she asks.

He shrugs, faking a casual air.

"I remember butchering 'With or Without You.' But I really think you should give me points for trying. It's the thought that counts and all that crap, right?"

She laughs, nodding in agreement.

"Definitely."

"And I remember the rest of it too," he tells her, lowering his voice so she knows he's serious. "I love you. And I'm not going to take it back or deny it or ignore it anymore."

"Oh, so I didn't need to record it all on phone to remind you in the future?"

She smiles slyly and reaches out to toy with a button on his shirt. She is so pleased with herself, and he's actually pretty pleased with her too.

"Secret recordings are not admissible in court, you know."

"Well, they are admissible in my bedroom."

He smirks.

"That is *really* good to know."

Her mouth drops open in outrage, though she's laughing a bit too.

"I didn't mean it like that, you perv," she scolds, smacking at his chest.

He grabs her hand and holds it against his chest, where he knows that his heart is probably pounding. He wants to kiss her so badly, but he also knows that his breath is probably terrible. Annie must have similar concerns because she doesn't move in for a kiss either. She taps her fingers against his chest, smiling sweetly.

"Since someone made me go to bed without eating dinner last night," she sighs, a little dramatically. "I'm starving. Want some breakfast?"

"Sure. But I need to make a pit stop first."

So he heads for the bathroom and she goes to the kitchen where she makes scrambled eggs with some chive cream cheese mixed in. He normally wouldn't eat yolks, the cholesterol and all that, but his hangover definitely requires something greasy - and maybe it's just because he's so hungry but they're the best scrambled eggs that he's ever had. They eat in relative silence, but then they reach for the pepper shaker at the same time and they laugh together, so most of the nervous tension fades away.

"You should invite me over to your place tonight," she says coyly.

He grins.

"Yeah?"

She shrugs, like it's no big deal, like it's something she proposes every day.

"I mean, if you feel up to it."

He laughs because no one issues a challenge quite like Annie.

"Copious amounts of caffeine and a little nap, and I'll be good as new," he says. "But I really hope you're not expecting candles and rose petals on the bed and all that cheesy stuff. Because that's really not my style."

She smiles, taking their dirty dishes to the sink.

"I don't have any illusions about you, Jeff," she tells him. "It's not like I think you're Prince Charming or something."

He chuckles again, shaking his head.

"Well, that's good to know."

She looks at him through the kitchen cut-out, her expression strangely serious.

"But I like you anyway," she says. "I *love* you anyway."

He tries to act casual, like his face hasn't gone all hot and his chest doesn't feel all tight, but it's the first time that a woman other than his mother has told him that she loves him and actually meant it so it's a little overwhelming. But Annie smiles then, soft and sweet, and suddenly it all seems very simple.

They both have to get to campus, so there really isn't time to linger. She walks him all the way downstairs after he calls for a cab and he's got egg and coffee breath but so does she, so he leans in to kiss her, just like he wanted to when he first woke up in bed beside her, and it's soft and slow and Annie smiles into it, her hand gripping at his belt, and he feels happy in a way that he hasn't in years.

"7:30 sharp," he tells her as they pull apart. "Don't be late."

"I might even be early," she says, still smiling.


	5. Chapter 5

All day, she alternates between two thoughts.

Jeff has finally admitted that he loves her and is willing to do something about it _and_ they're going to have sex tonight.

As she bounces back and forth between those two ideas – while taking notes in class, answering the Dean's phone, scanning more documents – she goes through an entire range of feeling: giddiness, nervousness, excitement, fear, anticipation.

It's kind of dizzying.

By some unspoken agreement, they decide not to see one another until tonight so she eats lunch at her desk, trying to decide what to wear and how she should do her hair. She refuses to plan anything beyond those insignificant details because she wants it to happen naturally - she wants to live in the moment with him.

So after work, she hurries home, making sure that she has enough time to shower and shave and spritz her pulse points with expensive perfume. She chooses a simple navy dress that she always feels pretty in and leaves her hair down even though it's gone a little wavy in the heat. She also throws a handful of condoms in her purse before she heads out the door because even though she's sure that Jeff will have them, she's an independent, self-sufficient woman who can look out for herself and doesn't take anything for granted.

When Jeff opens his door, he's wearing a dark blue button-down tucked into gray trousers and she loves the fact that he's dressed up just to stay home in his apartment and have sex with her.

"We match," she says as she steps past him, pointing between his shirt and her dress.

He grins.

"Great minds, right?"

For a moment, they stand there just in front of his door in silence. Unlike her and Abed's apartment where there always seem to be cars honking in the street below, kids shrieking at the playground on the corner, or deafening arguments from the couple upstairs about who's cheating on who, she is struck by how quiet Jeff's place. The only sound that she hears is the low, steady hum of the central air conditioning and her own heartbeat.

She wants to project an air of unwavering confidence, so he can't have any second thoughts. She doesn't have any herself, but this is something that she's wanted and thought about for years and it's impossible not to be nervous. She almost wishes that they'd just done it this morning when they woke up together in her bed – there wouldn't have been time to overthink it then.

As it is, she can count all of the guys that she's slept with on one hand and still have a finger left over. But maybe that doesn't really matter anyway because this is wholly different from any time in the past since she's never slept with anyone who she felt like this about before, and that means she wants the first time to be perfect – which is obviously ridiculous and unrealistic. She knows that it takes time to really know someone sexually – hell, she's only just come to understand what she really likes and wants herself – so if the earth doesn't move the first time, it doesn't mean that it won't sometime down the road.

She can take comfort in that to, she tells herself – the fact that she knows this isn't just a one-time thing, that Jeff isn't going to cut and run once it happens. It's not going to take the hottest sex ever to sell him on their relationship.

But her hands are shaking all the same.

The only thing that calms her at all is the fact that he seems pretty nervous too. He's a whole lot twitchier than usual and he's studying the floor like he's convinced that he might find the answers to all of life's mysteries there. When he finally looks at her, smiling a little wryly, she forces herself to keep her nerve up.

"How about some scotch?" she asks, hoping that she sounds casual.

If he's surprised or caught off guard by the request, he doesn't show it. She sits on the sofa, smoothing her dress over her lap, while he pours them each a drink. Their fingers touch as he hands over her glass, and somehow, that quick brush of skin on skin is all it takes for her desire to trump her nervousness in a big way. She wants his hands on every inch of her body right now, so she takes a sip of the scotch, letting it warm her blood just a little bit more, and scoots toward where he sits on the other end of the sofa. He watches her intently, with just a hint of smirk playing at his lips when she takes the glass out of his hand and sets it on the coffee table.

The first two times they kissed, a million years ago when they barely knew one another, she initiated it, so there's nothing strange about sliding her fingers along his jaw and angling his face toward hers so she can seal her mouth over his. His hand winds up in her hair as he deepens the kiss, and then at her hip so he can drag her into his lap, and God, why was she ever worried – there isn't any time to think; there's barely enough time to feel all of it.

So when he starts to kiss his way across her throat, she undoes the buttons on his shirt blindly, frantic to get at his skin. His hand finds its way to the zipper at the back of her dress and he tugs it down a couple of inches, his fingertips slipping inside the gap and sliding over her shoulder blades – and it's only the faintest of caresses, but she moans low in her throat because he's never touched her there before, not without clothing in the way, and there's something thrilling about the newness of it. She feels him smile against her jaw, and his teeth toy with her earlobe just enough to make her squirm.

"Bedroom," he whispers, his breath hot on her already feverish skin, and she can only nod absently.

The heels of her sandals catch on his throw rug when he pushes her off his lap so they can stand, and she stumbles a little. She kicks off her shoes, not caring when they land – which makes it harder for her to reach him, but he bends and she stretches on her bare toes and they manage to kiss their way to his bedroom. He pulls her zipper all the way down to the base of her spine, so the dress gapes around her and she shrugs it off her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor without tearing her mouth from his. His hands slide down her rib cage, over her waist, to her hips, and when he feels her bare skin, he pulls back to take a shaky breath.

There, at the foot of his bed, he looks down at her in her lacy navy bra and panties with the kind of longing that he usually reserves for the latest Ovadia & Sons latest collection, and she shivers even though she feels hot all over.

"So this is really going to happen," he says, and the smirk that's tugging at the corners of his mouth is so delicious that she just has to take a minute to kiss it away.

"It better," she tells him.

He laughs, a low, rumbly chuckle that vibrates straight from his body to hers, but he watches passively as she pulls his shirt out of pants and finishes unbuttoning it, not doing anything more than tracing his fingers down her arms. When she pushes the shift off, though, he bends and presses his mouth to the side of her neck, the curve of her shoulder, the top of her breasts just above the scalloped edge of bra, and the fever under skin burns even hotter. Somehow, it doesn't distract her from undoing his belt and sliding it out of the loops on his pants so fast that it makes a resounding slapping sound as it hits the hardwood floor. She feels him smile against her collarbone.

"You don't mess around, do you?"

She doesn't bother to answer, busying herself with the button and zipper on his trousers. He slides the straps of her bra down slowly and carefully, almost like he's gauging her reaction to determine how slow to take things. She stills her hands and straightens, her posture nearly perfect, which is all the encouragement he needs to reach behind her and undo her bra. She doesn't move, waiting for him to reach out and peel away the satin and lace – and even then, she stays still for a long moment, letting him look as much as he wants.

And what she loves about the expression on his face, hungry and a little awed, is how sexy it makes her feel, how confident and powerful.

She doesn't want to waste any more time, so she shoves his pants down and he helps her, stepping out of them, tugging off his socks, and kicking the entire pile of clothing away to a dark corner of the room. Somehow, he seems even bigger out of his clothes - because standing there in just his dark boxer briefs, he's nothing but firm muscle and tan skin. He is beautiful and she wants to climb him like a damn tree, but he lifts her off her feet before she can make any real progress and then he's easing her back onto the bed with a gentleness that seems so uncharacteristic of him.

She doesn't really want him to be careful with her, though. She doesn't want him to treat her like some fragile China doll. So she lets her nails bite into his shoulder when she tugs him against her and she moans when his teeth tease the curve of her breast so he'll get the message. He slides his hand inside her underwear and like some kind of magic trick, he finds the perfect spot without much searching and she hikes her leg up over his hip, opening herself to him even more – and when he curls a couple of fingers inside her, she can't stop herself from crying out and clawing at his back.

He's laughing a little when he leans in to kiss her and she should be annoyed at how smug he is, but she can't be bothered when it feels as if he's managed to rouse every single nerve ending in her body at once. It's still not enough, though, so she reaches between them to shove his briefs out of the way, distracted momentarily by how hot and hard he feels in her hand.

And she gets her own chance to feel smug because he lets out a choked sob against her cheek as she strokes him a couple of times and he actually grabs her wrist to still her hand after a minute, the muscles in his back stretched tight with the strain of holding back.

"Too much," he grits out.

Then he's tugging off her panties and tearing into a condom that seems to appear out of nowhere, before she even has a chance to remember that she's brought her own in the purse out in his living room. She bends her knees to make room for him and he slides inside her so hard and fast that she whimpers almost despite herself and her eyes slip shut and she digs her fingers into his biceps hard enough to leave a bruise.

There is nothing gentle about the way he moves, which she loves, but when she finally opens her eyes, he's watching her with an expression that is startlingly tender and she loves that too.

And maybe the earth doesn't move exactly, but it starts spinning faster and in a completely different direction than it always has.

* * *

She isn't as modest afterward as he was expecting.

The sheets are tangled at her waist while she tries to catch her breath, so he's treated to a view of her breasts, still damp with sweat, that seems like it might be able to shave a good five minutes off his recovery time.

He doesn't really know how to categorize his feelings at the moment – because it's not just that he wants to fuck her again (He totally does, of course. He's thinking at least three times a day, like breakfast, lunch, and dinner, with maybe a few extra snacks and dessert thrown in on weekends). He also just wants to lie here and look at her, in all her messy-haired, flushed glory, because he's pretty sure that he's never seen her look more beautiful.

He wonders if she'd mind if he put a mirror on the ceiling over his bed so he can cover all the angles next time. At the very least, maybe he can convince her to let him tilt the full length mirror next to his closet a little.

On a whim, he leans over and presses a kiss to her throat, right where her pulse still pounds a little wildly. Her fingers scratch through the hair at the back of his neck, holding him to her – which isn't really necessary because he isn't going anywhere.

She laughs suddenly, shaking her head against the pillow.

"What's so funny?" he asks, amused.

"Look how pale I am next to you."

She holds her arm out next to his, though it's really not necessary because there's enough bare skin in the bed to make the point without any real effort – and yeah, next to his seriously flawless spray tan, she looks like she's made of porcelain.

"I'm going to have to start faux tanning," she says. "So I don't look all sickly."

He shakes his head emphatically.

"Nope. Don't change a thing."

She narrows her eyes, looking a little skeptical.

"Seriously," he says. "You're beautiful."

She giggles in a bashful way that's totally at odds with her nakedness. Her fingers play with his hair again, but she doesn't seem entirely convinced. He presses a kiss to the inside of her arm where the skin is the palest.

"I mean it."

She smiles, color high in her cheeks.

"I know," she tells him, as confident as ever. "I can always tell when you're being sincere and when you're just spewing sweet talk to get what you want."

"Oh, yeah?"

She nods.

"And we both know you don't need to say anything to get what you want right now…"

Her hand trails down his chest and over his stomach to where's he's already half hard again.

True to her word, he doesn't have to say a thing.

* * *

The morning after, he walks her to her car in a rumpled t-shirt, track pants, and flips flops, and she thinks that his being seen in public like this, even if it's only his building's parking lot at dawn, is as much a profession of love as his actually saying the words.

"We should do something tonight," he says, leaning in her open driver's side window.

"Like a date?" she laughs.

"Yeah. Like a date. What's so funny about that?"

"We've known each other for years, Jeff. And we've probably already done every possible social activity in existence with the group. I kind of think we're beyond dating." She shrugs. "Besides, we've been pretend-dating for over a month now with Duncan and Delilah, so what's the point?"

"Those were double dates," he points out. "And more importantly, *pretend*."

She tilts her head, smiling up at him coyly.

"Wasn't last night a date?"

He grins right back at her.

"I don't think it really counts. I didn't even feed you."

She arches a brow, the double-entendre right on the tip of her tongue. But he can read her mind, apparently, because he feigns a scandalized look.

"Who knew you had such a dirty mind? If I weren't already in love..."

"So what we would do?" she asks. "On this date?"

"We'll keep it low-key. You come over and we'll watch a movie. You'll have to get my Netflix password out of Abed, but …"

She sighs, pretending to consider the offer.

"Throw in take out from the Thai place on Spring Street and you've got a deal."

He leans into the car a little further to kiss her and make it official.

All day at work, she feels energized, despite her lack of sleep. She manages to make a big dent in the scanning project and is even able to fix the Dean's computer after he downloads a questionable video that comes complete with its own virus. She and Jeff meet for lunch - they don't talk about what happened last night (and this morning, right around five-thirty when she tried to wake him for a quick goodbye) but the entire meal is full of knowing smiles and long, lustful looks. When she gets up to head back to the Dean's office, he tugs on the hem of her blouse playfully and the gesture probably looks completely innocent to anyone watching but she shivers with the thrill of it and what it hints at.

Later, as their take-out goes cold on his coffee table and 'Silence of the Lambs' plays soundlessly on his TV, he makes good on the promise - he's got her beneath him on the couch, kissing her like he's been waiting much longer than just twelve hours to do so. She runs her foot up the back of his leg, slips a hand under the waistband at the back of his jeans, and he groans against her ear, sounding completely winded.

"Hey," he pants. "Just because we had sex last night, it doesn't mean I expect it every time I see you."

His expression, though a little pained, is entirely sincere and she grins up at him.

"I do," she tells him. "Actually, I should probably warn you – you're really in for it."

He laughs, letting his fingers slide under her shirt and over the thin lace of her bra.

"Thanks for the warning."

They never do make it to his bedroom.

* * *

It's his idea to take the easy way out when it comes to letting people know.

Annie's initial plan is to sit all of their friends down under the guise of a party or some other social gathering and announce the news. He refuses, though, because 1) it would be the kind of uncomfortable hassle that he avoids at all costs, and 2) it makes it seem like they're asking for everyone's blessing or permission and they're adults who can do whatever the hell they want with each no matter what their friends might think.

Eventually, Annie agrees.

But while a big, public declaration is out, he does think that they're probably better off if everyone knows before classes start again in the fall so they're not forced to announce it on the spot in an unplanned, awkward moment.

So it becomes clear that it's best to spread the news without doing any of the hard work themselves - which means telling Abed and letting him do all the heavy lifting.

There's barely a month left until classes start, which seems like plenty of time for him to go down the list. It's really just Britta, who won't be caught off-guard by the news after Jeff's visit to the bar, and Shirley that require delicate handling – and while Abed isn't really good at subtlety, he is capable of the next best thing: dropping the bomb simply and plainly, like it's not a big deal in the least.

They wind up crossing the Dean off the list of people who need to know themselves, though.

Three days after they sleep together for the first time, he catches them kissing up against the filing cabinet just outside his office. He clears his throat dramatically, and for a minute, Jeff has a flashback to being on the ratty sofa in Mandy Coscetta's basement junior year, both of their shirts long gone and her father charging down the stairs. He and Annie drift apart, trying to smooth the wrinkles from their clothing casually.

"I guess I don't have to ask what's going on here," the Dean says, sounding a little testy.

"Jeff was just leaving for his class," she explains. "So I was saying goodbye."

The Dean frowns.

"Next time, can you try saying it without quite so much tongue?"

Annie blushes and fidgets with her hair. Jeff just shrugs – he's not about to make any promises.

* * *

Even after two weeks, she can't seem to stop smiling.

She feels calmer in a lot of ways, like maybe she doesn't have quite as much to prove, and yet, there's also this new sense of excitement, as if her life might have hundreds of possibilities that she hadn't ever considered before.

That doesn't mean that it's all easy.

She's at work in the Dean's office in the middle of the afternoon, humming along to Beyoncé on her computer's speakers as she goes through another box of files for the scanner when Britta knocks at the open office door and steps inside.

They haven't seen one another or really talked since Shirley's barbecue, which might be awkward enough under the best of circumstances, but now, considering that she and Jeff are she and Jeff, it seems almost unbearable.

She knows that Jeff has already spoken to Britta about the whole thing, but that was before they'd actually gotten together. Abed saw her last week, though, when he took a crew to her bar to shoot a scene for the movie he's working on. He told Britta then, and Annie has spent most of the days since wondering if she should call, text, or email her about it.

Ultimately, she decided that it should be Britta's call as to when and how they would talk so she left it alone.

And now, here Britta is, standing right in front of her with what appears to be a genuine smile, and Annie wishes that she'd sent a damn email.

"I was on my way to work, but I figured you'd be here," Britta says. "So I thought I'd stop in. You know, touch base."

Annie tries not to cringe, tries to act like this is a normal, comfortable conversation between friends.

"I'm glad you did. How's the rest of your summer been?"

Britta plays with the tape dispenser on the edge of the desk, pulling a piece of tape off and curling it around her finger.

"Really good. I've made enough money for the trip to Argentina I told you about. I leave this weekend, actually."

"Oh, wow. That's great. How long will you be gone?"

"Just ten days. But I think that'll be enough time to recharge my batteries before the fall semester starts. I feel like this summer just flew by."

Annie nods, though she doesn't really feel that way. This summer has felt long and protracted, with so many twists and turns, but she isn't quite ready for it to be over either.

"So…" Britta flicks her finger through the air, trying to free the piece of tape that's stuck to it. She looks up, eyes wide. "You and Jeff…"

In an instant, Annie's stomach tightens and she looks at the worn carpeting to avoid Britta's gaze. She doesn't want to feel guilty - she's happy and Jeff's happy and that means something because neither of them are people who can usually hang onto that feeling for long – but she can't help it. She knows how she felt when she heard about Jeff and Britta's secret affair years ago, when they announced their engagement just a few months back, and she doesn't want to be responsible for making Britta feel even a tiny bit of that.

In the end, she decides to go with honesty.

"I really don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," Britta tells her. "I mean, I'm not gonna lie. I feel a little weird about the whole thing… but I'll get over it."

She doesn't sound entirely convincing, like maybe she's trying get herself to believe it just as much Annie.

"You don't have to say that just to make me feel better. Because I remember what happened with Vaughn and that was years ago when we hadn't even known each other for an entire year. Now, we've been friends for so long and I don't want to ruin it just because …"

She trails off, not sure how to finish the thought – Britta actually does it for her.

"Just because you love Jeff," she says. "And he loves you." She lifts a shoulder tiredly. "It's not like you stole him from me, Annie. I mean, not that he was ever mine in the first place. You know, because people don't belong to each other."

Annie nods again, just because she doesn't know what else to do. She doesn't want to make this into a bigger deal than it is – because she really doesn't think that Britta's harboring any deep, meaningful feelings for Jeff or that her heart is broken over him moving on with someone else – but she doesn't want to minimize Britta's feelings either.

It's just such a fine line to walk.

"And what are you supposed to do anyway?" Britta throws her hands up. "Not be happy because it might be kind of weird for me for a while?"

That's really the thing – it's not like Annie could honestly walk away from Jeff at this point, so she's not entirely sure what exactly she could do even if Britta decided that she had a major problem with the whole thing.

"I don't know," she sighs. "I just want to be a good friend."

"Sometimes, these things just happen, Annie. And it's not about anybody but the people involved. I mean, it's not like Troy and I went to Jeff and asked him if he was okay with us hooking up."

"That didn't come right on the heels of you and Jeff getting engaged, though."

Britta shakes her head dismissively

"It wasn't a real engagement," she insists. "You knew that from the start, right? I'm not a jilted bride or something." She sinks down in the nearly broken office chair behind Annie's desk and leans back. "And you know, if I put my therapist's hat on for just a minute, it was a really big step for Jeff to tell you how he feels, to really try at something that matters to him. If you were to back out on him now, he might be broken forever. You don't want that on your conscience, do you? I know I don't."

Annie knows what Britta's doing – letting her off the hook once and for all – and the fact that she's working so hard to convince Annie that the whole thing is okay has to mean that everything will eventually be fine, even if it's a little awkward for the time being.

"But just so you know," Britta declares, smirking proudly. "When we have one of our ladies' nights and get trashed and start badmouthing all the guys in our pasts, you're just gonna have to grin and bear it."

Annie laughs, nodding.

"I guess that's only—"

The office door on the other side of the counter opens then, and Jeff strolls in, holding a cardboard tray with a couple of iced coffees. He doesn't seem to see Britta right away.

"So you lucked out," he announces. "The barista at Starbucks didn't hear me when I asked for a non-fat iced caffe latte so you get the reject."

He is lying through his teeth, but she won't call him on it. For some reason, whenever he does something even mildly thoughtful or considerate, he pretends that it's all just a mistake or happy coincidence so he doesn't have to own up to it – and she always plays along. It isn't until he's setting the drinks down on the desk that he notices Britta sitting behind it, and though he recovers pretty quickly, it's obvious that he's caught off-guard for a minute.

"Hey," he says, smiling tightly. "What's up?"

"Nothing much," Britta drawls. "Just talking about you behind you back."

He smirks, seeming a little more at ease.

"I figured as much. I am the only topic worthy of discussion around here."

Annie swats at his arm, but she's can't help smiling.

"Britta's leaving for Argentina this weekend. We were talking about that too."

He nods.

"Cool. Have a good time."

Britta smiles, pushing the chair away from the desk and standing.

"When I get back, we'll hang out," she says. "So I can show off my pictures."

"It better not be like that summer you went to Thailand," Jeff says. "You only had like 12 photos, but it took two hours to get through all of them because you just wouldn't shut up."

Britta shoots him the evil eye.

"Excuse me for wanting to share a little of the world with you guys."

"There just better be booze involved this time. That's all I'm saying."

"Abed's been wanting to go back to that bar with the indoor mini golf course," Annie says.

Britta and Jeff groan in unison.

"We almost got kicked out last time," Jeff says. "You know, when Duncan puked in the windmill on the ninth hole. I don't think we're going to be welcome there. Or maybe it's more that I don't want to show my face around there after last time."

Annie shrugs.

"Well, Duncan's kind of cleaned up his act since he met Delilah. So he'll probably be on his best behavior this time around."

Jeff shakes his head skeptically.

"Mini golf just brings out the worst in some people."

"I'm going to let you guys figure this one out," Britta says. "You've got two weeks to pick a place." She heads for the door, but stops after a second and turns back to grab one of the café lattes from the desk. "And I'm taking one of these as a parting gift. Later, gators."

After she's disappeared into the hallway, Jeff and Annie look at one another and sigh.

"Could've been worse," he says. "I think."

Annie leans back against her desk, lifting the remaining iced coffee from the tray to take a sip.

"It'll probably be a little strange for a while."

He mimics her stance and she passes him the cup.

"Yeah, well," he says. "There's always something a little strange going on with this group."

She smiles because he's kind of right.

"So I shouldn't worry. That's what you're saying, right?"

He grins around the straw, his eyes bright.

"Like I could ever stop you from worrying."

He's kind of right about that too.

* * *

Just like before they started sleeping together, they fight over some really stupid stuff sometimes.

One morning, they have it out over how hot Annie likes her showers ("I feel like a lobster, being boiled alive." "Oh, don't be so dramatic!" "And it's not good for my skin – look how dry it's getting."), and they have a heated disagreement one day at lunch over whether corn should really count as a vegetable ("If you eat it fresh, it's a vegetable. That's a scientific fact." "It has also the equivalent of almost two cubes of sugar in it. Tell me that's healthy.") They spend nearly a half hour arguing about whether a purple triceratops really makes sense as the Rockies' mascot ("They found a ton of fossils when they were building Coors Field, so Dinger is totally on point." "But how many people outside of Colorado know that? They're probably wondering why Barney is the Rockies' mascot. I just think they could have chosen something a little more obvious." "The Phillies' mascot is furry green phantatic – that's not even a real thing!") and another fifteen minutes disagreeing over whether 'Deadly Women' or 'Nightmare Next Door' on ID is a better show ("'Deadly Women' is always the same. Some woman kills her significant other or kids. With 'Nightmare Next Door' at least there's some variety." "But the reenactments on Deadly Women are so much more entertaining. Those actresses really know how to bring the crazy.").

Occasionally, they start arguing over something dumb and it morphs into something a little more serious. Like when they make the mistake of watching an episode of 'Divorce Court' and the unhappy couple keeps fighting over which of them checked out of the marriage first – which prompts a joke-y conversation between he and Annie about which of them is more likely to dump the other.

"Obviously you," she says, without hesitation. "You go through women like other people go through tissues."

She's just teasing, not giving him a hard time or expressing any real doubts, but it still annoys him a little.

"I used to," he agrees. "But look at how well I've taken to commitment and monogamy. I should be giving lectures or leading workshops or something."

Annie laughs and he doesn't really take offense, but maybe she honestly doesn't get that this whole thing has felt a whole lot easier and better than he ever imagined it would. He's kicking himself for waiting so long to man up.

"It's barely been a month, Jeff," she says. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

"I'm just sayin'." He shrugs. "And really, this proves how little you think of me so you'd be much more likely to pull the plug."

She shakes her head, her eyes glued to the TV.

"Not unless you gave me good reason."

"Oh, yeah? How about this?" he asks. "Because you love me in a way that's pretty much selfless and I love you as selfishly as it gets."

She squints at him from the other end of the couch.

"I don't know what the means."

"It means if you suddenly announced that you were marrying Abed or the Dean or whoever, I wouldn't be at all okay with it. I would do everything humanly possible to stop it. I'd go all Dustin Hoffman in 'The Graduate' on your ass." He pauses and frowns. "Fuck. Have you even seen that movie?"

"I haven't, actually," she admits with a smile. "But I've seen enough spoofs of it to understand the reference." She scoots closer and rubs his arm. "And it's a good thing that you wouldn't let me go through it. Because no matter how happy I might claim to be, getting engaged to Abed or the Dean would be a pretty big cry for help."

He rolls his eyes.

"You know what I mean."

"I don't, really. You've done plenty of things for me over the years just because you knew they were what I wanted. Because you thought they would make me happy. Isn't that being selfless?"

"That's because you being happy kind of makes me happy. So still totally selfish."

Annie laughs again and crawls into his lap to straddle hips. She's wearing a sundress, which rides up her thighs just enough so he can make out the floral print on her panties.

"I'm pretty sure that's how everyone feels when they care about someone," she says, and she leans in to press a kiss to his jaw, just below his ear. "Like last week when I sat through all of 'Slap Shot' because you said it was one of your favorite movies. You were happy so I was happy."

He slides his hand over her thigh, just under the hem of her dress.

"I was pretty grateful afterward too," he reminds her.

He winds a hand through her hair, tugging her down to his mouth, and he nips at her lower lip until she groans a little.

"I guess you really are as selfish as I am, huh?" he teases.

She straightens a little, towering over him, and shrugs.

"If we each get what we want half the time," she muses. "I think we'll both be pretty happy."

It's hard to argue with that kind of flawless logic, particularly when she slips her hands under his t-shirt and starts trailing them up his chest, so he kisses her again instead.

* * *

Sometimes, he is a terrible influence on her.

Like on the Tuesday afternoon of the last week of the summer session when Jeff's cancelled his class to give his students time to work on their final papers and he convinces her to pretend that she's sick so she can leave work early.

He does it with that crooked, little smile that never fails to send heat spiraling through her body and a low, confident voice that hints at all the naughty ways that they'll spend their unexpected free time together.

But she still feels incredibly guilty as she stands in front of the Dean's desk and tells him that she's coming down with a migraine and the only thing that she can do to get rid of it is to lie down in a dark, quiet room.

An hour later, when she's tangled up in Jeff's sheets in his cool, dim bedroom, she tells herself that at least there was a grain of truth in what she told the Dean she was going to do.

"See?" Jeff says, pressing his mouth to her shoulder. "Aren't you glad you decided to play hooky?"

She laughs as he trails his lips a little lower, ghosting over the curve of her breast.

"I haven't faked being sick in forever. I think the last time was ninth grade when I needed to get out of a Trig test. I never really missed school so my mother didn't doubt it for a second when I told her I'd thrown up. I missed the test on Friday, had all weekend to study, and aced the makeup on Monday."

"Why weren't you ready for it in the first place?" His lips tickle at the valley between her breasts. "I mean, that doesn't sound like the super responsible, super prepared Annie Edison we all know and love."

She fidgets uncomfortably against his expensive striped sheets, threading her hands through his hair as he moves to the other breast.

"That was the week my dad moved out."

She does a little shoulder shrug against the mattress, and Jeff lifts his head, looking strangely solemn even with his hair sticking up in at least a half dozen different directions.

"My mom let me stay home for almost a whole week when my dad cut out on us," he says quietly. "She took me to Chuck E. Cheese and the Denver Zoo and I think we saw "E.T." one day too."

She smiles sadly, running her fingers softly over the back of his neck.

"Sometimes, it's okay to play hooky."

He smirks, and just like that, it's like his somber mood has evaporated.

"It's always okay to play hooky," he insists. "When you need a break, you need a break."

"Don't get used to this," she warns. "When I'm back to a full class load, I'm not going to drop everything just to go running off to have sex in the middle of the afternoon."

He grins and scrapes his tongue across the tip of her breast.

"That's what you say now…"

She can't hold back the low moan, but she tries for a stern look all the same.

"I mean it, Jeff."

"Fine," he huffs, sounding properly put-upon. "I can deal with not being priority one, but I better at least come in second."

She pulls him up and kisses him.

"How about 1A?"

He rolls them over so she's on top of him. His smile would probably take a lesser woman out at the knees.

"Even better."

* * *

The fact that Annie's dress is a bright raspberry color that sets off her eyes and skin pretty spectacularly and offers a more than generous view of her cleavage has him feeling pretty magnanimous, which is why he waits until she's drank half of her gin and tonic before he says anything.

"I don't want you to think I'm whining," he starts. "Because I'm not whining in the least. I don't ever whine actually. But really, even you've got to admit, this isn't fair."

She sets her glass back on the table, her brow creased.

"What isn't?"

He holds his hand out, sweeping over the table, the people around them, the entire restaurant.

"This, all of this," he declares. "You got me to do a lot of crap before. *A lot*. But now it's like I'm totally powerless. So… like I said, it's not fair."

He takes a sip of his scotch, delighting in her outraged pout.

"I've never *made* you do anything," she insists. "If you've had an attack of conscience or guilt that lead you to do the right thing as a result of something I've said, that's all on you."

He smirks at her.

"Oh, really? So when you tilt your head and flutter your lashes like this…" He does an exaggerated impression of her trademark eyes, and she laughs, smacking at his arm. "It's not to get me to do something? Because I've got news for you, if you think it's my conscience that's got me sitting here at this table tonight and not your promise of a fashion show of all those tiny scraps of lace and satin in the Victoria's Secret bag on your dresser, you're really not as smart as I thought."

She nudges his leg with the tip of her shoe under the table in a half-hearted kick.

"I never said that was contingent on you coming here tonight."

He gapes at her in disbelief.

"It was totally implied!"

She lifts an indifferent shoulder, looking way too pleased with herself.

"I would never coerce you into doing something with sex, Jeff. That's just sleazy."

He shakes his head.

"Well, just so you know, my morals aren't quite as firm. So if you want the ride of your life, you'll make sure we're out of here right after the first course. No after dinner drinks or dessert, okay?"

She giggles, her cheeks flushed beautifully in the dim light, but she elbows him softly in the ribs anyway.

"You're the—"

"What's so funny?"

Duncan stands on the other side of the table, with Delilah at his side. They're both smiling as he pulls out one of the chairs for her, so Jeff just shrugs casually.

"Annie knows an obscene amount of dirty jokes. This one was about a guy who walks into a bar with a hooker and a-"

"Jerk!" Annie half laughs, half gasps in outrage. She smacks at his arm too, but he's too amused to care. "Ignore him. He's just in a bad mood because the semester's started and he actually has to work full time again. Or at least what passes for full time work with him."

"Not me," Duncan chirps happily, settling himself in his chair. "My experiment on personal delusions is shaping up to be very interesting indeed. Now, there may be one or two ethical issues along the way, considering that it will necessitate engaging in … I believe the colloquialism is 'catfishing' … but it has the potential to be groundbreaking."

"You're going to trick poor unsuspecting people into falling in love with you online?" Delilah asks. "That's awful, Ian."

He nods solemnly, but Jeff can tell that he's fighting off a gleeful smile.

"It's for science, though, pet."

"That's not a very good excuse," she protests.

"Well, you see, it's just that …"

Jeff figures that this is as good a time as any to try to sneak his cellphone out of his pocket for a quick peek. He hides it under the table, angling himself slightly so even Annie won't be able to catch him. He glances up occasionally to make it seem like he's honestly following the conversation.

"I just think you could find a different way to go about it," Delilah is saying. "Because aren't you running the risk of inflicting real psychological damage even if you manage to prove some theory?"

"You could always do a study on people with unhealthy dependence on technology," Annie says tartly, and she nudges Jeff's arm with her elbow so he nearly drops his phone to let him know that he's busted. "I've got the perfect test subject right here."

"I'm just checking the score of the Rockies game," he explains. "It's better I do that so I don't spend our entire meal preoccupied. They're only a game and a half out of the last Wild Card spot, you know."

"Big deal." She flicks her hair over her shoulder haughtily. "There's still like a month left in the season. Anything could happen."

He eyes her with amusement.

"Oh, so now you're a baseball expert?"

"I'd kind of be an idiot if I wasn't. You have the MLB network on 24/7."

"Hey, I apologized for the other night like a hundred times. I think it's probably time to let that go."

"How about this?" she says, smirking prettily. "I'll let it go when you stop whining about how I made you watch 'Cosmos?', okay?"

"It was like 10 hours long, Annie! That's just crazy."

She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You admitted that parts of it were interesting."

"Yes. *Parts.* Like maybe a half hour. An hour, if I'm being generous."

"You just don't—"

"You know," Duncan interrupts, with a laugh. "You two may have been more convincing as a couple when you were faking it."

Delilah shakes her head.

"I still can't believe you guys were pretending that whole time. You seemed like the real deal to me."

Jeff sneaks a sideways glance at Annie, who's blushing a little and fiddling with her glass.

"That's because the only people they were really fooling was themselves," Duncan declares. He pauses for a moment, head tilted thoughtfully. "So, really, when you think about it, I deserve all the credit for you two idiots finally getting together."

Delilah smiles at him, patting his hand affectionately – she must really like him based on how she's reacted to the news of his little deception. Maybe there is a little crazy lurking beneath her normal exterior that Jeff missed in his initial appraisal.

Annie doesn't say anything about the whole thing until Delilah heads to the bar to take a business call and Duncan takes a trip to the bathroom. The waiter is clearing away their salad plates when she leans in, her hand sliding teasingly across his thigh.

"Do you think we were more convincing when we were pretending?" she asks, and her voice has a low, sultry tone that makes her seem more flirty than genuinely curious.

"That thing you did in the car before we came in here? I can't speak for anyone else, but that definitely convinced me."

"I'm serious," she giggles, squeezing his knee.

"So am I."

She cocks her head, smiling at him expectantly. Her hair's doing that soft, wavy thing that he likes and her dress fits her like a glove and everything about her at the moment radiates a kind of contentment that he doesn't usually associate with her.

"Yeah," he says. "I'm pretty convinced."

Her grin widens.

"Yeah?" She lets out a breathy sigh. "Me too."

She leans in even closer, transferring most of her weight to the hand on his thigh, and kisses him, sweet and soft and slow, like maybe he's never been kissed before.

"Though, you know," he drawls as they pull apart. "If you really want to make sure I'm convinced, we could go to the bathroom and—"

"Shut up," she laughs, smacking his knee.

She kisses him again, so he doesn't really have a choice.


End file.
